


The Red Terror

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [25]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The Musketeers face their greatest challenge yet—defeating the Cardinal and restoring Louis to the throne of France.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 82
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are folks, the big finale of "season 2." And as is fitting an epic showdown between the Musketeers and the Cardinal, this episode is a whole nine chapters. Hope you enjoy it!

Constance was sitting out in the yard with a saddle and oil cloth, trying to rub out her anxious energy. Her gaze kept flicking to the gate, hoping to see her husband striding through, but of course he had too much to do and likely wouldn't be home for many hours still. They had heard the echoes of the explosions all the way at the dragon compound, but there had been nothing for Constance and her father to do but go to the garrison and wait for news.

Eventually musketeers had begun to return, and Constance was relieved to hear the King and Queen were still alive and safe back at the palace. No one could tell her anything specific about d'Artagnan though. And so she'd gone home and set about doing chores, trying to keep busy and not worry too much. If there was news, someone would come and find her.

A distant shriek drew her attention toward the sky. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare and squinted. A dozen crimson dragons were rising into the air…and heading this way.

Constance dropped the oil cloth and leaped to her feet. "Father!"

Jean came barreling out of the house. "What? What is it?"

She swung her arm out at the incoming dragons. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew one thing for sure—those weren't their dragons, and that most likely meant they were under attack.

Jean's eyes widened and he started for the dragon dens. Constance ran after him and when they reached the pens, they started throwing open the gates.

Ayelet poked her head out and gave them a questioning head tilt. Another screech from the sky was answer enough, and she instinctively hissed as red dragons descended on the Musketeer garrison next door, unleashing fire and brimstone.

"Grab a saddle for Zhar!" Jean yelled. "I'll take Dragor."

Constance nodded and motioned for the other dragons to move. "Go!"

They started to take flight, evacuating the compound.

"Ayelet, go!" Constance shouted.

The young dragon hesitated but then leaped into the air after the others.

Constance ran across the yard to the saddle she'd been cleaning. Zhar started after her, but a red dragon came swooping past the Musketeer garrison and landed in the yard with a bone-shattering roar. Zhar whirled around and launched himself at the beast.

Dragor shrieked in response, but Jean was in the middle of fitting the saddle on him and so didn't join the fight. Constance turned toward her father; they'd ride double if they had to, but just then red guards started pouring into the compound, armed with gleaming acimite swords. But instead of attacking the invading dragon, they swarmed around Constance and her father.

"Tell that dragon to surrender," one of the guards snapped.

Constance spluttered soundlessly in shock and dismay. What was going on?

Dragor bristled beside them, but the guards jerked their weapons threateningly toward him. Another pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Jean.

"Now!"

"Zhar!" Jean called tightly. "To me!"

The dark green dragon broke away from the attacking red one, swinging his head back and forth in confusion between the threat and his master's summons. Jean held a hand out, gesturing for him to stand down. Constance could see the mental battle flaring in Zhar's eyes, but after a long moment, he ducked his head in submission and backed away further.

Jean held his head high as he addressed the red guards. "What is the meaning of this?"

The leader stepped forward and pistol whipped him across the face so hard Jean fell backward.

"Father!" Constance dropped down beside him, shooting a baleful glare up at the guard.

No one else moved. Behind them, the Musketeer garrison continued to go up in flames.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan watched in horror as the Cardinal's hoard of dragons descended on the garrison. But he was quickly reminded of their own situation as more red guards spilled out of the palace and onto the veranda where the four musketeers were the only thing standing between them and the King and the Queen. D'Artagnan raised his sword, prepared to fight to his last, but just as the red guards surrounded them once more, the men faltered, gazes flitting past the musketeers to something else.

D'Artagnan chanced a look over his shoulder and was elated to see the Musketeer dragons coming to their defense. Savron reared up on his hind legs, stomach and chest beginning to glow. Athos and Aramis grabbed the royals and pulled them down behind the balustrades. D'Artagnan and Porthos dove for cover too as Savron unleashed a stream of fire over their heads. The screams of the red guards rent the air, quickly swallowed up in the whoosh of wind and flame that poured into the solarium. D'Artagnan idly wondered if Richelieu was still standing inside and had been caught in the blast.

"Move!" Athos yelled once the flames were past and dragged the King up to climb over the railing onto Savron's back.

Aramis whistled for Rhaego to come closer and helped the Queen onto him, her skirts snagging in the hedges and ripping. That left d'Artagnan to go with Porthos on Vrita, who currently didn't have a saddle.

"Stop them!" Richelieu's voice bellowed from within the palace.

The dragons turned and leaped into the sky. D'Artagnan clung tightly to Porthos's waist, his thighs clenched in a desperate attempt to stay seated on Vrita as she rose and fell with the flapping of her wings.

From the air, they saw the red dragons bombarding the garrison with fire while others landed to attack the dragons on the ground. Savron pulled up into a hover, the other two dragons following suit.

"We have to protect the King and Queen!" Athos shouted, and d'Artagnan knew what he was saying: they had to get out of here.

"The musketeers are being slaughtered down there!" Porthos yelled back.

"We have to evacuate," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan knew that was the only option, but saying it aloud felt like a punch to the gut.

Athos looked to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Go. We'll get the King and Queen to safety, regroup outside of Paris!"

Porthos gave a clipped nod and bent low over Vrita again as she veered toward the garrison. D'Artagnan watched Athos and Aramis fly off in the opposite direction with their precious cargo.

Vrita swooped down to land in the middle of absolute chaos. Fires licked up the sides of buildings and red dragons dive-bombed from above to crash into rooftops and bring them down. Musketeer dragons shot fire back at them but were also distracted by protecting their riders on the ground from snapping jaws and slashing talons.

"Etienne!" d'Artagnan yelled, catching sight of someone. He waved his arms wildly to get the musketeer's attention. "Order evacuation!"

Etienne nodded sharply that he understood and darted for the alarm bell. He snatched up a hammer from the ground beside it and struck the outside. The resounding gong rather than the higher ding of a normal summons signaled retreat.

D'Artagnan whipped his gaze around the garrison, wondering how many needed to get out. He jolted suddenly and whirled to Porthos. "The captain!"

Porthos's eyes widened and they both turned toward the infirmary but skidded to a stop when the corner of the barracks exploded. Through the haze of smoke and debris, d'Artagnan saw red dragons converging on the royal dragon compound. In that moment, he was paralyzed with thoughts of Constance.

Porthos slapped him on the shoulder. "Go!" he yelled as though he'd read d'Artagnan's mind. "I'll get Treville."

D'Artagnan nodded gratefully and bolted for the compound.

.o.0.o.

Porthos ran into the infirmary and found Treville sprawled on the floor beside his bed struggling to sit up. His face was white and there was a spot of fresh blood seeping through the bandages around his chest.

"What's happening?" he gasped.

"The Cardinal's taken the throne," Porthos replied, grabbing Treville's arm and hauling it over his shoulder. The captain choked on a cry of pain as Porthos heaved him to his feet, though his knees instantly buckled.

"The K-king?"

"We got him an' the Queen out. We're evacuating."

Porthos dragged him toward the door as quickly as he could, ignoring the pained grunts. As soon as they stepped outside, though, he pulled up short when he found a red dragon standing not five feet away. The beast turned its beady gaze on them and bared its fangs. There was nowhere to go.

But then Vrita and Kilgar came lumbering toward them and attacked the dragon. Porthos could do nothing but watch and try to stay out of the way.

Treville began to sag toward the ground.

"No, no, come on," Porthos growled, pulling him up again.

A strangled sound lodged in the captain's throat and he shook his head. "Leave me."

" _No_."

"Porthos!" Treville grabbed a fistful of his coat lapel and yanked him down. "I can't walk. I can't ride. You have to _go_."

Vrita scrambled over to them while Kilgar continued to distract the red dragon. Porthos flicked a look at her bare back, then gritted his teeth and tried again to haul Treville off the ground. The captain just pushed him away.

With grim resignation, Treville said, "One for all."

At the main gate, red guards were charging into the garrison while all around musketeers were taking to the skies in a desperate bid to escape. Red dragons tore after them.

A hard lump formed in Porthos's throat, and with a clipped nod of remorse, farewell, grief, and so much more, he wrenched himself away from his captain and rushed to climb onto his dragon. Vrita gave a massive thwack of her wings that sent several red guards skittering back as she leaped into the air. Porthos hugged her neck tightly trying not to fall off. He didn't even have a chance to look back.

Ear-splitting roars thundered through the air as the retreating musketeers were hounded savagely. Porthos watched Kilgar cutting through the sky, slashing talons at red dragons as he went and taking chunks out of others. He soon enraged enough of them that they abandoned their pursuit of the musketeers and converged on the older dragon instead, a swarm of red devouring brown. Porthos heard Kilgar's shrieks as he fought until his very last, and then finally a large dark shape fell from the cloud of crimson to crash to the city below. The red dragons circled, crowing their victory. Vrita let out a mournful keen.

Porthos tore his gaze away from the city and focused on the shapes around him, the last of the Musketeer dragon riders making a mass exodus in defeat.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan barreled through the back gate between the garrison and the dragon compound and found Constance and Jean surrounded by red guards. A handful of them were attempting to snap a collar around Zhar. D'Artagnan drew his sword and charged with a raging battle cry, heedless of the fact that he was outnumbered. He managed to take two by surprise, which normally wouldn't have made much difference, but it was apparently enough to inspire Zhar and Dragor to start fighting back as well. They sent several guards scattering with bursts of dragon fire.

"Hurry, go!" d'Artagnan yelled as he cut down one guard and pivoted to face another. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jean helping Constance get a saddle on Zhar while Dragor incinerated a row of men.

Constance climbed onto Zhar and Jean hurried to mount Dragor.

"D'Artagnan!" Constance shouted for him.

He ran another opponent through and turned toward his wife, but his eyes widened as he saw a group of red dragons suddenly veering toward them. He almost missed the glint of steel swinging toward his head but ducked in time and threw his sword up to block the next strike.

"Go!" he yelled over his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan!" Constance screamed again.

He couldn't run to her though, couldn't break away from the red guards charging his position. All he could do was hold them off while his family got away.

"Go!"

He didn't see if they listened, not until after a few more parries and pivots and he noticed Zhar and Dragor in the air being chased by the Cardinal's dragons. Unable to do anything more for them, he forced his full attention back to his own life and death fight.

He slew another guard, and another. An acimite blade barely scraped his shoulder, drawing a faint sting. His arm was tiring and more guards were pouring into the compound. He'd never be able to take them all.

A gust of air overhead heralded the arrival of a dragon, and d'Artagnan instinctively ducked. But it wasn't enough and he felt the curve of talons close around his torso and yank him off his feet. His heart leaped into his throat and terror surged through him at the prospect of dying by a dragon's vengeful fangs.

But then he noticed the color of the scales on the legs holding him and he craned his neck back to look up.

"Ayelet!"

She looked down briefly to squawk at him before turning her attention back to their flight and banking sharply. D'Artagnan's stomach momentarily rearranged itself and he had to close his eyes against sickening dizziness. Ayelet's grip on him was secure, but the fact that his legs were dangling haplessly beneath him was not a pleasant sensation.

He twisted around trying to see if they were being pursued, but it didn't look like it. "Help me up!" he called.

Ayelet flapped earnestly, gaining altitude, and then leveled out. With her flight in a stable glide, she lifted d'Artagnan up toward her shoulder. He struggled to get a grip when she wasn't wearing a saddle, but after several moments of trying, finally managed to heave himself up across her back.

He breathed out, lying almost flat over her neck as she resumed a speedy flight away from Paris, leaving the smoking ruins of the garrison behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis had one arm wrapped around the Queen's waist and the other gripping the horn of Rhaego's saddle as his dragon swerved and swooped to evade the other dragon on their tail. Aramis ducked as the other beast shot overhead, trying to take a bite out of Rhaego's wing. He heard Anne let out a sound of distress as he inadvertently pressed his weight against her back, pushing her forward uncomfortably. Rhaego snarled at their attacker.

Up ahead, Savron continued to pull farther and farther away. Aramis knew there was nothing he or Athos could do; they couldn't swing back and risk the King, nor could Athos risk hitting the Queen if he tried to shoot at the Cardinal's dragon. Aramis couldn't even take a shot himself. His pistols weren't currently loaded with acimite and he couldn't let go of the Queen long enough to prime it. All he could do was desperately hold onto her and the saddle against Rhaego's jerky attempts to escape.

A third dragon abruptly swooped in to join the fight—Etienne on Astra. Astra slashed her talons at the red dragon, forcing it to veer away. It angled back around, still aiming for Rhaego—or more accurately, his royal passenger. Rhaego banked sharply and Astra zipped between them, still trying to intercept their determined pursuer. Etienne didn't try to get a shot off; perhaps he wasn't properly armed either.

Rhaego and Astra suddenly crossed over and under each other and looped back around, putting the other dragon directly in their crosshairs. In a united move, they both spewed streams of fire at intersecting angles. There was nowhere for the red dragon to go and scorching flames skimmed across its back and left wing. With a pained screech, it finally jerked away in retreat.

Aramis craned his neck to look over his shoulder in case it decided to come back for round two or had reinforcements, but it didn't. He then looked over to Etienne and his dragon and nodded.

"You all right?" he asked in Anne's ear.

She nodded shakily, but he could feel her trembling. He adjusted his arms around her more comfortably but still secure as they straightened out their flight path and caught up with Savron and Athos.

They flew for another couple of miles before finally setting down in a field. Aramis did a quick scan of the skies then dismounted and reached up to help Anne down.

"What happened?" Etienne asked. "Who attacked us?"

"The Cardinal," Athos replied, helping Louis off of Savron. The King looked to be in the same amount of shock as the Queen, stumbling to get his balance and then simply moving his gaze around in a daze.

"The Cardinal?" Etienne repeated dubiously. "Where did all those dragons come from?"

"It's a long story," Aramis replied.

"One that should wait until we see if there are more who escaped," Athos added.

They fell silent, watching the skies with a mixture of trepidation and desperation, hoping to see dragon shapes emerging through the clouds but dreading them to be red.

Aramis walked around Rhaego, making sure he hadn't taken any injury during that fight. He checked Astra next, just for something to do. She had some claw marks across her flank, the dark red blood difficult to see against her obsidian scales.

"They came out of nowhere," Etienne said softly, standing next to his dragon.

Aramis nodded. None of them had seen this coming.

He grabbed his waterskin from his saddlebag and flushed Astra's wound. That was the most he'd do for now given the scratches weren't very deep and they didn't know if they needed to ration their supplies for more serious wounds.

Savron lifted his head and let out a trumpet call. The rest of them whipped their gazes around the sky in search of what he'd seen. A moment later there was an answering call, and shortly after that a group of dragons appeared heading toward them, Constance and Jean flying in the lead. Aramis's heart swelled with relief that they had made it out.

The dragons from the compound landed and Constance and Jean dismounted from Zhar and Dragor.

"Your Majesties!" Jean exclaimed.

Louis still seemed out of it, but Anne acknowledged him with a nod.

"I'm glad to see you and Constance are all right," she said.

"And you," Jean returned. "We didn't know what to think when the Red Guard took the compound, in conjunction with the invading dragons."

"The Cardinal was behind everything," Aramis explained. "The assassination plot, and now seizing the throne."

"The garrison was burning," Constance said, eyes wide with horror. "We couldn't see how many got out."

Aramis's heart clenched at that. "The alarm to evacuate was sounded. Hopefully it was in time…"

Constance's eyes welled with tears. "D'Artagnan…he held them off so we could escape, but he…" Her breath hitched.

Aramis moved closer and took her by the arms. "D'Artagnan is resourceful. He'll find a way, you know that."

He caught Athos sliding a grave look his way but staunchly ignored it. Porthos was out there too, and the rest of the musketeers. And oh God, Treville. Aramis swallowed the hard lump in his throat and tried to give Constance an encouraging smile instead.

"Aramis is right," Anne spoke up, coming over. "D'Artagnan is one of the bravest and most resourceful musketeers I have ever known. All of you are." She swept her gaze over their small group. "I am alive because of you."

"Alive," Louis finally uttered sullenly. "For whatever that's worth."

They exchanged wordless glances and fell quiet after that, once again waiting. At one point they debated whether to send out a dragon to search for survivors and decided to send two of the unpaired dragons from the compound who hopefully wouldn't garner too much attention.

A little while later they returned with more Musketeer dragons in tow, some doubled up with riders. Aramis felt both waves of relief and punches of heartache as he counted who was there and who wasn't.

"Most of us at the garrison escaped," Cornet reported once he joined them. "But there were still men in the city helping to clean up the site of the earlier attack."

Athos nodded grimly. They wouldn't have had a way to flee Paris, and if they'd returned to the garrison, they could have been arrested or killed.

Rhaego suddenly let out a sharp trill and Aramis looked up in relief to see Vrita flying in, and Ayelet not far behind her. Neither of them were wearing saddles, which couldn't have made the flight easy for their riders, but at least they were safe and sound.

Constance immediately ran to d'Artagnan and threw her arms around him. Aramis went over to Porthos and gave him a nod. Porthos returned it, but then his expression pinched as he looked around at everyone.

"Treville didn't make it out."

The wave of grief that swept over the musketeers at the news was almost palpable.

"What do we do now?" the Queen spoke up after a moment of heavy silence.

"Our group is too large," Athos said. "Especially with all the dragons. We'll have to split up."

"What about stopping the Cardinal?" d'Artagnan asked.

"The Cardinal has obviously been planning this for some time. We need time to regroup, gain information, and then we can start making plans. But right now the King and Queen's safety is of paramount importance. They will need to be taken to separate locations as well, in case one of them is found. As we've seen, the Cardinal wants them both dead."

"My father and I should keep the unpaired dragons together," Constance put in. "We can go into the mountains."

"You'll need supplies," d'Artagnan said.

"We'll all need supplies," Etienne pointed out.

"We'll just have to do what we can," Cornet interjected. "No more than two dragon riders should travel together."

"I volunteer to return to Paris," Alain spoke up. "As you said, we'll have to gain information on what's happening, and maybe I can locate the rest of our men."

"I'll go with you," Christophe chimed in.

Athos nodded and turned to Jean. "Could one of your dragons serve as a message carrier? We could establish a drop point for Alain and Christophe to leave missives outside the city and an unmarked dragon could then relay them to the rest of us."

Jean considered it for a moment. "Zhar is the fastest flyer. And he's finished his training as a Musketeer dragon; he can handle the job."

Constance wordlessly went over to the dark green dragon and removed the saddle from his back, which she then transferred to Vrita.

"You shouldn't go in uniform," Cornet said to the two men planning on sneaking back into the city.

Alain and Christophe solemnly took off their pauldrons and handed them over to fellow musketeers for safe keeping.

Athos turned to the next order of business. "Aramis and Porthos, take the Queen to the convent south of Bourbon-les-eaux. The nuns there should be willing to give you shelter, and the convent is in an old, fortified fortress, easily defensible should you need it."

"What about the King?" Porthos asked.

Athos's mouth pressed into a thin line. "D'Artagnan and I will take him to Pinon. No one will think to look for us there."

"Is it really necessary that the King and I split up?" Anne broke in. "Surely it would be safer to stay together with more guards."

Athos shook his head. "If the Cardinal's men or dragons manage to track one of you down and…" He trailed off in obvious discomfort.

Anne's throat bobbed. "Kill us," she finished stiffly.

"Yes," Athos conceded. "At least if that happens there will still be a rightful ruler of France to retake the throne."

The Queen slowly nodded. "Very well, then."

They finished making arrangements and then prepared to go their separate ways. Aramis watched d'Artagnan and Constance hold each other in a long embrace as they said goodbye. Anne was looking at them as well, her expression full of a sadness that didn't seem to be just for the married couple. She cast a sidelong glance at her own husband, but Aramis noticed the King wasn't even looking her way. He hadn't participated in the planning discussions and either didn't realize he and Anne were about to be separated for an indefinite length of time…or he didn't care.

The other Musketeer dragon riders paired up with riderless musketeers, save for Alain and Christophe, who would have to make their way back to Paris on foot in order to not draw attention. The skies would most definitely be watched with how many dragons the Cardinal had.

D'Artagnan and Constance finally pulled apart and Constance climbed up onto Dragor behind her father. With the rest of the compound dragons, they took to the skies and headed for the mountains. Two by two, the others headed off as well.

Aramis turned to Anne. "Your Majesty." He offered her his hand and a lift up onto Rhaego. This time they had the luxury of taking the time to fasten one of the anchor lines around Anne's waist.

Several feet away, Athos was doing the same with the King. When they were all mounted on their dragons and ready to leave, the four musketeers exchanged somber looks. There was no telling when they would see each other again.

Their dragons trilled in farewell and flapped their wings to take to the skies, going their separate ways with heavy hearts.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu reclined lazily in the seat of the King's throne, getting a feel for it. It was certainly more suited for someone of his stature than that overgrown child.

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and he straightened as the captain of the Red Guard came in.

"What news?" Richelieu demanded.

"The Musketeer garrison is in ruins," Marchand replied.

A wicked smile curved up the corners of Richelieu's mouth, but it was slowly tempered. "And?"

Marchand hesitated. "Many of the musketeers escaped. And…we haven't yet located the King and Queen."

Richelieu's fingers crooked around the armrests of the throne. "You let them escape?" he hissed.

"Most of our dragons were focused on the assault on the garrison," Marchand deflected.

"And yet those musketeers escaped too!" Richelieu surged to his feet and began to pace. "I want those musketeers found!"

"I'll send the dragons out immediately, Your Eminence."

Richelieu forced himself to take a breath and gather his thoughts. Obviously he couldn't put all his faith in his own Guard. "Put out a reward for information on the musketeers' whereabouts. Also make sure to spread the word that anyone found aiding and abetting them will be executed on sight!"

Marchand bowed deeply and then turned on his heel to swiftly retreat.

Richelieu spun and stormed toward the window. The sight of smoke trailing into the sky did not assuage his fury. This was not how he was supposed to take power. But the Queen and those blasted musketeers had forced his hand.

Still, he was in control now. The Council members were being rounded up, and those who didn't pledge allegiance would be thrown in prison. Most would do as told, Richelieu knew. A few might resist as long as the King was still alive. But with his army of dragons, no one would dare challenge him outright.

_Except_ , a dark voice deep down whispered, _those musketeers_.

Richelieu pulled back his lips in a snarl and slammed a palm against the glass. The only way he could be secure in his newfound position as regent was to eliminate every last musketeer under the sun!


	3. Chapter 3

They had to take a longer, circuitous route west of Paris to reach La Fère, but Athos and d'Artagnan arrived with the King without incident. Landing on the grounds outside the vacant house, Athos once again found himself returning to this hated place. He was in a better frame of mind this time, at least. And despite the bad memories, this house provided the type of refuge they were in dire need of. No one outside Athos's closest friends knew he used to be the Comte de la Fère.

Athos swung down from Savron's saddle and began to unbuckle it. "Get the King settled," he said to d'Artagnan. "I'm going to stop into Pinon to let the villagers know we're here."

D'Artagnan quirked a confused brow at him. "You're going to tell them we're hiding the King here?"

"No," Athos said dryly. "But someone will notice our presence and I want to make sure they know to keep it to themselves."

Louis made a scoffing sound, the first sign his brain hadn't been completely addled by the shock of the coup. "Why should they? My people obviously hate me. My most trusted friend…" He trailed off, gaze going distant again.

"I trust them," Athos said, regardless of whether Louis was even listening anymore. He pulled Savron's saddle off and carried it into the barn, then set off on foot for Pinon.

It was a small enough village that his presence was immediately noticed the moment he entered. Of course, everyone also knew who he was.

The door of the inn down the street opened with a loud creak and Bertrand came out.

"My lord!" he greeted. "Er, I mean, Athos," he abashedly corrected.

"Bertrand."

The Mayor of Pinon furrowed his brows. "Have you come to check on Helen? She's doing well…"

"I'm glad to hear it but that's not why I'm here." Athos roved his gaze around at everyone. "I needed a place to lay low for a while so I'm staying at the house."

Bertrand's frown deepened. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Nothing that concerns anyone here," Athos said a tad tersely. "I just wanted to make sure that if any strangers happened to pass through the village that no one here mentioned anything out of the ordinary."

Bertrand nodded fervently. "Of course. I'll make sure everyone is aware." He paused. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Your silence is enough. Thank you." Athos cast one last look around at the villagers and then headed back to the house.

Savron and Ayelet had moved into the barn, and Athos found d'Artagnan gathering firewood.

"The King still seems to be in shock," d'Artagnan said without preamble.

Athos sighed wearily and followed him into the house and into the closest sitting room. Louis was sitting in a chair staring into space. D'Artagnan gave him a hard look and then moved past him to start a fire in the hearth.

"Everything go okay in the village?" he spoke up after a few moments.

"Yes." Athos's mouth turned down. "I should go back and see about getting some food."

"There's a vegetable garden growing wild in the back," d'Artagnan replied. "And I'm sure the dragons won't mind sharing some meat from their hunts. We should be fine."

Athos nodded silently. They were certainly better provided for here than many of their brothers were.

D'Artagnan finished stacking the wood in the fireplace and grabbed a flint stone off the mantle, which he then used to light a fire. Straightening, he looked around morosely. "I guess we should see if there are any blankets left around upstairs, bed down in here?"

"I'll do it."

Athos went upstairs and checked the bedrooms, gathering blankets and quilts as he found them. He'd have to make a second trip for pillows.

He carried his stash downstairs and set it on one of the chairs. Louis turned his head toward it, his eyes widening slightly.

"What, you expect me to sleep on the floor?" he spluttered. "Aren't there beds upstairs?"

"It's better if we stay together and near multiple routes of egress," Athos explained. "Besides, the beds upstairs haven't been cleaned in years."

Louis's face scrunched up in disgust. "I can't believe this is happening!"

D'Artagnan came around to stand in front of him. "We will get you back to Paris," he promised.

"Why bother?" Louis muttered. "My life is ruined."

"You still have your life," d'Artagnan countered. "And as long as you do, the throne of France is rightfully yours. Your people need you to reclaim it."

Louis just turned his head away and continued his distraught mutterings over the Cardinal's betrayal. D'Artagnan exchanged a helpless look with Athos, who didn't say anything. He understood the Cardinal's actions came as a shock. Even knowing how treacherous and devious the man was, Athos had never dreamed Richelieu would seize the throne in an all-out coup. And for the King, who had trusted Richelieu implicitly, it had to be a staggering blow.

Yet it was also more than that. Louis had always been spoilt and pampered, and now everything had been ripped away, leaving him nothing more than an overgrown child with no one left to cater to his whims, save for two Musketeer guards who cared more about his safety than his comfort.

It was going to be a very trying time for all of them.

.o.0.o.

Aramis walked the corridors of the convent in search of the Queen. They'd been there for a few days now and all was quiet. The nuns had graciously taken them in and offered what little they had to share without complaint. There were copses of trees all around the stone fortress for Rhaego and Vrita to nest under cover, and overall they felt secure here. Albeit bored. Neither Aramis nor Porthos took to inaction well, though Aramis at least found solace spending hours in the chapel in prayer. Porthos, on the other hand, quickly grew restless and prowled about the convent like a prickly lion.

Aramis finally spotted Anne sitting in a small alcove, gazing despondently out the window. Shortly after arriving, she'd abandoned her voluminous skirts and now wore only a loose-fitting shift dress. She'd also let her long tresses down. Aramis had always found her very beautiful, but there was something softer about this image she presented with every guard down.

"Your Majesty?" he queried softly.

She looked up at him and offered a pained, wan smile. "Aramis."

"I do not wish to disturb you…"

"No," she said, smiling a little further. "Please, sit. I could use the company."

He moved closer and carefully took a seat beside her on the stone bench. For several moments, neither of them said anything.

"How are you holding up?" he finally asked.

She turned her gaze back out the window. "I trust the Musketeers, with my life. But all this just seems…hopeless."

Aramis nodded in understanding. "There is hope, though. As long as you and the King live, the Musketeers will do everything in our power to restore you to the throne."

"The Cardinal is so powerful…"

"He may be the Cardinal but God is not on his side," Aramis declared resolutely. He reached out and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Have faith. God will not abandon us."

Anne gazed back at him, looking like she desperately wanted to believe him.

"Hey," Porthos's voice interrupted, and Aramis quickly pulled his hand back as Porthos strode down the hall toward them.

"Zhar jus' brought news from Paris. Alain and Christophe have found four other musketeer survivors. They're lyin' low. The city is under martial law wit' the Red Guard everywhere and red dragons constantly circling." Porthos's mouth thinned. "A bounty has been placed on the Musketeers as well."

Anne made a startled gasp. "The people can't possibly be siding with the Cardinal."

"Those who take bounties don' have loyalties to anythin' outside of money, an' the people are frightened. Anyone known to have been friendly with musketeers have been beaten in the streets."

Anne moved a hand up to cover her mouth. "How can we possibly stop all this?" she asked, overwrought.

Porthos just flicked a silent look at Aramis; at the moment, there was nothing they could do.

"What about asking my brother for aid?" she said earnestly.

Now Porthos cast an uncertain glance at Aramis before answering. "I'm not sure we should trust Spain wit' this. We're vulnerable right now."

Anne looked at him in affronted incredulity. "Philip is my brother."

"Porthos is right," Aramis put in gently. "Relations with Spain have been tense for years. Asking them for military aid would only give them a foothold they may not want to give up later."

Anne looked back and forth between them desperately. "Then what can we do?" she asked again.

"Bide our time," Aramis said honestly. "And when we're ready to make our stand against the Cardinal, we will."

She didn't look very assuaged by that, and even Aramis felt the hollowness of the vow given they currently had nothing on their side. Except God and fierce determination.

Which would just have to be enough.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu leaned over his desk, staring at the accumulation of papers and reports spread across it. The musketeers had been at large for a week with no results on hunting them down. The King and Queen were alive somewhere, though his intelligence network was fairly certain neither of them had left France. But none of that did him any good as long as they were out there.

In addition, he'd gotten reports of small munitions raids and acts of sabotage against his Guard. Just the other day, a supply of meat for his dragons had been tainted and the dragons were forced to raid the livestock in surrounding villages to feed themselves.

Richelieu swept his arm across the desk, sending the papers and various other items scattering across the floor. There must be musketeers in the city! But despite the incentives and threats, no one was turning them in. Richelieu was getting ready to burn Paris to the ground to find them and punish any collaborators.

He took a breath. No, he couldn't react prematurely. He had another idea to try first.

Composing himself, he strode from his office and out into the hall. His guards immediately fell into step behind him and he ordered a passing servant to get his coach and a dragon escort ready. He was taking a little trip to the Chatelet.

His show of force made sure no peasants dared to get in his way to boo or jeer at him. Richelieu was aware of the mutterings in the city; people were angry over the destruction the attack on the Musketeer garrison had caused to nearby homes and shops and over the fact that his Red Guard had been given carte blanche to maintain order in whatever way they saw fit.

Richelieu didn't care. He would show zero tolerance to dissenters and the people would learn quickly to accept his rule from here on out.

They arrived at the Chatelet and Richelieu exited the carriage, crossing the street quickly and entering the prison. He made his way through the dingy corridors until he came to one of the isolated cells in the back. The guard inserted a key into the lock and then opened the wooden door. Richelieu stepped inside, roving his gaze over the filthy conditions before resting it on the dirty and pitiful figure huddled against the wall.

"My, how the mighty have fallen," he tutted.

Treville cracked his eyes open to gaze dully up at him but didn't respond. His still healing chest wound hadn't made his stay in the prison any easier on him, and he was sickly pale and wan.

"Your musketeers are still at large," Richelieu started. "My men have been unable to track them down. So I'm going to ask you—where would they be hiding?"

Treville still didn't say anything.

"I know some of them are in Paris," Richelieu pressed. "Tell me where they are and I won't have to tear this city apart to find them. I'll also grant them quick deaths."

Treville gazed back at him blandly.

A muscle in Richelieu's cheek ticked. "Fine. I suppose I'll have to lure them out another way." He pivoted on his heel and began to pace the short length of the cell. "I'll announce that at the end of the week, Captain Treville, of the traitorous regiment known as the Musketeers, is to be executed."

Treville's eyes narrowed a fraction.

Richelieu canted his head at him smugly. "I suspect the musketeers will attempt to rescue their captain."

"You're wrong," Treville finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "They know…my life can't- compare to the- King's…" He broke off with a coughing fit.

Richelieu smirked. "Your men are notoriously—and foolishly—loyal. They will come for you."

He turned and marched out of the cell, the guard slamming the door shut behind him and leaving Treville to wallow in that final note.

Yes, the Musketeers would come—and the Red Guard would be there to strike them down.


	4. Chapter 4

D'Artagnan sifted through the long-forgotten contents of the barn Athos's family had once kept dragons in. He found an old saddle, coated in a thick layer of dust from years of disuse. He could probably polish it up, make it nice and shiny again. He certainly had the time.

But for now he'd focus on just getting it usable. Ayelet needed a saddle for if—when—they'd have to leave La Fère.

He heaved it up off the ground and carried it over to a work bench to set on, brushing off part of the seat with his hand. The dust found its way into his mouth and nose and he coughed into his sleeve. Better outside, he decided.

D'Artagnan transferred the saddle outside and set it on a fence rail. The dragons watched as he first took a broom to it, beating the dust away, then found an old rag to wipe it down with. It was far from pristine but at least he shouldn't get a mouthful of dust just by touching it. He waved Ayelet over to see how it fit. It was a little loose—she still had a bit more growing to do, but it would suffice.

D'Artagnan removed it and set it back on the fence. He'd have to ask Athos if there was any oil lying around. If not, he could probably get some from the village.

He sighed with sudden weariness and turned his gaze toward the horizon. His heart ached for Constance. He couldn't see the mountains where she and Jean had gone to hide with the other dragons, and he hoped they were all right and wondered what they were doing. Communications had been sparse but they had reported that they'd settled somewhere. They should be fine.

A dark shape in the distance caught his eye and he watched tensely as it drew closer. Neither Savron nor Ayelet sounded an alarm, and they had better eyesight than him.

A few minutes later, he recognized Zhar and straightened with anticipation of incoming correspondence. The dragon swooped down to land, a storage cylinder clutched in his front talons. D'Artagnan moved forward to take it.

"Thanks," he said, opening the top of the tube so he could retrieve the rolled up parchment inside. He scanned the message, his pulse ratcheting up at its contents. He turned and bolted for the house. "Athos!"

He barreled through the front door and down the hallway, still shouting as he darted past empty rooms. Athos finally emerged from the kitchen, eyes wide with alarm.

"What is it?" he demanded urgently.

D'Artagnan held up the message. "Treville's alive."

Frowning, Athos took the message to read for himself, but d'Artagnan plowed on.

"He's going to be executed tomorrow."

Athos didn't say anything as he finished reading the note, his expression turning grim.

D'Artagnan waited another beat before saying, "We have to go get him."

"It could be a trap," Athos said heavily, rolling the note back up.

"So? We can't just let him be executed!"

"We can't leave the King unprotected," Athos countered.

D'Artagnan couldn't believe what he was hearing, though of course he knew Athos had a point. "Then I'll go," he said. "I'll meet up with the others in Paris and we'll go get the captain."

"How? The Cardinal's dragons outnumber us."

"We can use the tunnels under the city," d'Artagnan exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "When I was wandering around down there looking for Vadim, I found one that went up into the prison. We can get in and out without ever facing a dragon."

Athos appeared to consider it for a long moment, then nodded. "You can't take Ayelet back to the city," he pointed out.

"I know. Zhar can take me partway and I'll go the rest on foot. There's time."

He'd have to leave immediately.

Athos moved around him and went into a nearby room where he grabbed some paper and an ink quill. "Cornet is next on Zhar's route. I'll let him know what you're planning."

D'Artagnan waited for Athos to pen the additional message.

Athos scribbled it out quickly, rolled it up, and handed it over. "Good luck."

D'Artagnan nodded staunchly.

He'd need it.

.o.0.o.

The night was cold and drizzly as d'Artagnan made his way through the streets of Paris. He kept his head low, his hood pulled up over his face. Whenever he spotted a group of red guards patrolling, he ducked into an alley or alcove and made himself as inconspicuous as possible. Everyone else out and about did the same, giving the guards a wide berth and skittering out of their way. There was a palpable tension in the air.

D'Artagnan's shoulder felt bare without the weight of his pauldron, but he'd had to leave it in Pinon, as the blazing fleur-de-lis would be nothing but a target on his sleeve. The guards passed and he continued on his way, carefully taking extraneous twists and turns and constantly looking over his shoulder. He was certain he hadn't garnered any interest and wasn't being followed, so finally he turned to his destination and rapped on the door of a nondescript building. Two quick, one short, two quick again.

A grate at eye level slid open, only large enough for a pair of dark eyes to peer out.

D'Artagnan glanced up and down the street one more time before leaning in and saying in a low voice, "One for all."

The grate slid shut, but d'Artagnan heard the click of a lock being undone, and a moment later the door opened.

"And all for one," Christophe said.

D'Artagnan slipped inside and Christophe shut the door behind them, then the two embraced with hearty claps on the back.

"It's good to see you," Christophe said.

"You too."

He led d'Artagnan through a narrow hall into a back room where other musketeers were gathered around a small table.

"D'Artagnan," Alain greeted, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. "Has something happened to the King?"

He shook his head and took a seat as they shifted over to make room for him. "I'm here for Treville."

The group nodded sagely at that.

"We were just discussing how to get into the Chatelet with the Cardinal's red guards and dragons everywhere," Pierre said.

"We've been gathering acimite weapons where we can, but it's not enough to take on an army," Christophe added, pouring a cup of wine and passing it to d'Artagnan.

He took it gratefully and knocked back a swig. "There are tunnels under the city, and one that leads right into the Chatelet."

The others exchanged intrigued looks.

"How would we get in?" Alain asked.

"There's an entrance on the edge of the river just past where the barges dock," d'Artagnan said. "From the outside, it looks like a drain. I doubt it's being watched at all."

"Then we should go tonight," Alain declared, rising to his feet.

D'Artagnan held out a hand to stall him. "The Cardinal probably expects us to make an attempt at rescuing the captain. He'll probably have Treville under close guard in the prison."

"We're out of time," Pierre pointed out. "He's to be executed in the morning."

D'Artagnan nodded slowly, a plan forming. "We strike then."

A round of uncertain looks passed between the rest of the men.

D'Artagnan leaned his arms across the table earnestly. "We'll need a distraction, something to make the red guards think the trap has been sprung from the outside. That way no one will give a second look to the men ushering their prisoner back into the Chatelet."

The others finally started nodding along with the proposed idea, and a few volunteered to provide that distraction.

"Make it seem like the prison is under attack but don't engage with any soldiers and make sure to disappear quickly," d'Artagnan emphasized. "We're not trading lives here."

He received nods of agreement.

"Treville was seriously injured," Christophe put in. "There's no telling what shape he'll be in after over a week in prison."

D'Artagnan nodded seriously. "We'll carry him if we have to."

They all shared resolute looks and then bent their heads together again. They had plans to finalize.

.o.0.o.

Treville squinted against the harsh light of day as he was dragged out of the dark prison and into the courtyard where the executioner's block was situated. His feet shuffled through the dirt, though not from fear or futile resistance against his fate, but a mere lack of strength. Oh, he'd "rested" well enough during his imprisonment and his chest wound was more or less healing, but poor conditions and lack of nutrition kept him severely weakened. The two red guards gripping his arms and propelling him along were the only thing keeping his legs from turning to mush beneath him.

He was led to the steps and tripped on his way up to the platform, which was cast in the shadow of a large dragon. Treville craned his neck back to look up at the beast perched on the top of the Chatelet, like a maleficent gargoyle out of Hell. He could see other red dragons positioned on nearby rooftops as well. It would be suicide for anyone to attempt a rescue. Treville knew Richelieu was hoping for just that, but he hoped his men were smart enough to know better.

Even if it meant his end.

The guards pushed him to his knees, which took little effort on their part. The impact with the wood jarred through his bones and twinged at his chest. He clenched his jaw and tried to muster his courage as the executioner approached, the long handled axe gripped firmly in his hand. Treville took in a shallow breath and bowed his head—and found a pair of eyes gazing back up at him through the slats of the platform.

He furrowed his brow, wondering if he was hallucinating. D'Artagnan couldn't be here. He _shouldn't_ be here.

An explosion suddenly ripped through the air outside the prison walls. The red dragons screeched and took off toward it, followed by guards pouring out into the street. A musket ball shot up through the wood a few inches from Treville and struck the executioner, but the shot was drowned out by the musket fire happening outside.

The man fell with a thud, and then d'Artagnan was scrambling up the steps and reaching for Treville, who was still too stunned to say anything as he was once again hauled to his feet. D'Artagnan looped an arm over his shoulder and began to half carry, half drag him off the platform. When they turned to duck back into the prison, however, he finally found his voice.

"What are you doing?" he grunted incredulously.

"Trust me," was all d'Artagnan replied.

Treville didn't have the breath to argue as they made their way down to the lower cells. There, Treville was once again surprised to find Christophe and Alain waiting, a pair of guards at their feet. Then they were squeezing their way through a narrow gap, barely noticeable in the dark corridor, into a tunnel on the other side. There was a set of torches on the ground, which Christophe picked up while Alain ducked in to help d'Artagnan support Treville's weight.

"Where are we?" Treville managed to ask.

"The old tunnels under the city," d'Artagnan replied. "The Cardinal used them to smuggle in his dragons, and now we're using them to smuggle you out."

Treville could appreciate the irony in that. "The King and Queen?" he gritted out next between labored breaths.

"Safe."

Treville let relief wash over him. He'd suspected they were, given Richelieu's mercurial moods when he visited the prison, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

He shelved any other questions he might have and focused on simply keeping his feet as they quickly made their way through the underground passages. Eventually daylight suffused up ahead and they came out along the edge of the river where two more musketeers were standing guard. With brisk nods, they then continued on to the woods just outside the city and met up with yet two more men with a pair of horses. D'Artagnan looked markedly relieved to see them and gave them both staunch nods.

"Captain, can you ride?" d'Artagnan asked quietly.

He honestly didn't feel up to it but understood the necessity of haste, so he simply nodded. Alain gave him a boost into the saddle.

"What now?" the man asked the others.

"We keep holding our positions," d'Artagnan replied, swinging up onto the other horse.

Pierre stepped forward and handed him a pouch. "This is all the jewelry we managed to scoop out of the mud. We're lucky no one found Vadim's body."

"We're lucky he emptied half of the royal vault and left the spoils for us," Christophe muttered sardonically.

"I'm sure the King would approve of us using his riches to purchase armaments in order to retake his throne," d'Artagnan replied. "Though, perhaps I won't mention where we got it."

The men shared several small smirks.

Treville furrowed his brow in confusion. "What's all this about Vadim and the royal vault?"

D'Artagnan looked over at him. "It's a long story. I'll tell it on the way."

"To where?"

"A safe house."

Treville felt a flicker of irritation that his own soldier was suddenly treating him like a cadet. But there was also a glimmer of pride, considering that soldier had just orchestrated and executed a seamless rescue mission.

The musketeers exchanged nods of farewell and well wishes, and then d'Artagnan snapped the reins to get his horse moving. Treville didn't have to encourage his to follow, and they rode off into the countryside.


	5. Chapter 5

Richelieu threw the decanter of wine at the wall, shattering it into bits and splattering dark red liquid down the wallpaper like diluted blood. How was this _possible_? At every single turn, the Musketeers had thwarted him. And now, the trap that was meant to catch them all like moths to a flame had utterly failed. None of the guards could explain how Treville had managed to escape without a single person noticing. Not only that, but no one could even say they'd laid eyes on a musketeer anywhere in the vicinity.

It was unfathomable. It was…unnatural. Perhaps even preternatural, though there was no evidence they were working with a sorceress. But if not that, then…it almost felt as though God himself was against him.

Which was preposterous. What reason would God have to side with a bunch of common soldiers, many of them low-born? No, perhaps Richelieu was being tested, his might being forged through fire. This was his path, his destiny—to rule France, to make it one of the greatest nations in all of Europe.

And sometimes to build something up, it had to be torn down first. Like a forest ravaged by fire so new growth could emerge.

"Guard!" he bellowed.

The door opened and a red guard entered. "Yes, Your Eminence?"

"Order the dragons to burn the city. I want those musketeer rats smoked out of hiding."

"Yes, Your Eminence."

Richelieu adjusted his stiff collar and lifted his head. He would prevail. The Musketeers wanted to play with fire? They were the ones who'd get burned.

.o.0.o.

In the time since d'Artagnan had left for Paris, Athos came to realize how much of a buffer the young Gascon was between him and the King. Not that Athos and Louis had any contention between them; it was more that Athos wasn't much of a conversationalist, let alone with a self-absorbed man currently wallowing in self-pity and misery. When Athos walked into the room with a bottle of wine and Louis had asked if there was more, Athos had provided it to him. The King was much easier to ignore when he was sitting in a corner in a drunken stupor.

Athos knew d'Artagnan would chastise him for letting Louis get into such a state and then leaving him like that, but Athos didn't have the patience to deal with him otherwise.

He spent his time in other areas of the house, like the kitchen, or walking the grounds. The isolation and loneliness, something he had been used to for a long time once, now weighed heavily on him. Even with Savron and Ayelet to prevent him from being truly alone, Athos would give almost anything for the company of his brothers, who managed to find even the smallest thing to smile or laugh about in dire circumstances.

It was three days of idle waiting before d'Artagnan finally returned, Captain Treville slumped in the saddle of the horse behind him.

"Captain," Athos greeted, reaching up a hand to steady him as his horse came to a stop in front of the house. "It's good to see you."

Treville gave the barest nod. He looked taxed and unwell and on his last leg.

Athos helped him slide somewhat ungracefully from the saddle and ducked in to brace him as he found his feet. D'Artagnan swiftly dismounted and hurried over to help as they started to guide him into the house.

"Any problems?" Athos asked.

"None," d'Artagnan replied.

Treville shuffled stiffly between them, but they managed to get him into the sitting room and eased him onto a settee.

"Where's the King?" he asked haltingly.

"Upstairs." Athos moved away to grab one of the many wine bottles that still had some liquid in the bottom and handed it to Treville.

D'Artagnan frowned at it and shot Athos a furrowed look, which Athos ignored. Obviously, he wasn't drunk at the moment.

Treville struggled to take a drink and then sank further into the cushion, closing his eyes.

D'Artagnan shifted closer to Athos and spoke in a quiet voice. "I told the others to remain in Paris, but we need to start discussing how we're going to retake the throne."

"Our situation hasn't changed," Athos pointed out.

D'Artagnan only nodded. "We need more weapons, especially acimite." He glanced toward the hall before subtly removing a pouch from the inside of his coat. "We should be able to purchase enough with this," he said, flipping open the flap to reveal a bunch of dirty jewelry.

Athos raised his brows. "Where did you get that?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Vadim. In all the chaos, no one remembered to go looking for his body."

Athos exhaled heavily. "All right. Fully armed, we'd at least stand a chance in a fight against the Cardinal's dragon riders."

A throaty call came from outside and they both straightened at attention. It was Savron, though it wasn't a call of alarm. Casting a glance at Treville, they both quietly made their way to the front door just as a knock rapped against it, in the specific prearranged pattern.

Athos still kept a hand poised to reach for his pistol as he opened up. "Cornet," he said in surprise. Out in the yard was his dragon. "What are you doing here? It's too risky."

"I know, but this is important," Cornet said, slipping inside. He nodded to d'Artagnan. "Did you find the captain?"

"He's inside."

Cornet let out a breath of relief, then sobered. "We received word that the Cardinal's dragons have set fire to the city."

"What?" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

Athos absorbed the information with grim acceptance. They should have expected retaliation for rescuing Treville.

Cornet nodded. "Alain got out and was able to send word, but now we don't know about the others."

"Which means we no longer have a way of knowing what's happening in the city," Athos concluded.

"Even if they're still alive and not captured, it would be too dangerous trying to reach the drop point," Cornet agreed.

"We have to put a stop to this," d'Artagnan said ardently.

Athos nodded. D'Artagnan was right; it was time they started making plans to confront Richelieu.

"D'Artagnan procured some wealth for us to buy weapons," Athos told Cornet. "You take half, and we'll begin accumulating what we need to launch an assault on the palace. One way or another, this will end soon."

.o.0.o.

Aramis meandered the halls of the monastery, as he did every day. This morning, however, as he passed a stairwell that led down to the cellar, he heard voices and the clinking of glass. Curious, he made his way down the steps and pulled up short in surprise when he discovered what looked like a distillery. And a handful of nuns, led by the Mother Superior herself, were bottling what smelled distinctly like brandy.

"Monsieur Aramis," she greeted when she noticed him.

"You sell this?" he asked, looking around the almost professional setup.

"Saving souls isn't cheap," she replied with a knowing look.

Aramis walked around the equipment. "My father had a still just like this." He rapped the lid, the hollow reverberation bringing back memories. "He made grape and honey brandy all the time." He turned his gaze to the bottles the nuns were collecting and furrowed his brow when he noticed they were stuffing pieces of cloth down the bottlenecks. "Curious method of packaging," he commented.

"We thought you could light the bottles with cloth and throw them," Mother Superior said. "It'll be gruesome, but effective."

"Are you expecting trouble?" he asked casually.

"It can't hurt to be prepared, but I expect they'll be of more use to the Musketeers when you are ready to return to Paris."

Aramis arched a brow at her.

"That is the long-term plan, is it not?" she said more as a statement than a question. "To restore our rightful King to the throne?"

Aramis's lips quirked with an impressed smile. "It is. And thank you for this. For everything you've done."

She nodded sagely. "It is the least we could do. And our prayers are with the poor souls directly under Cardinal Richelieu's shadow of terror."

Aramis thought of the musketeers who'd been left in the city and how it was now unknown whether they were still alive or dead. Richelieu had a lot to answer for.

The muffled echo of a dragon screech filtered down from upstairs, prickling the hairs on the back of Aramis's neck. He straightened sharply and listened hard. It was Rhaego—sounding the alarm.

"You might have to put those to use sooner than expected," he said to the nuns as he turned and darted up the stairs.

He ran for the front doors and reached them in time to see a bunch of mercenaries storming through the open gates into the courtyard. Rhaego and Vrita were in the air, swooping down and picking off some of the men, but there were too many.

"Porthos!" Aramis bellowed as he slammed the doors shut and grabbed a nearby floor candle stand to slide between the handles. It wouldn't hold for long though.

He grabbed his musket from where it was propped up just inside the door and sprinted up to the second floor so he could get a good vantage point. Taking up position at a window, he shoved the barrel of the musket at the glass to break it, then leaned out and lined up a shot.

"How many?" Porthos yelled, hurrying down the hall with the Queen in tow.

"Too many," Aramis replied, stuffing another ball down the barrel and ripping open a packet of powder.

A ball struck the edge of the window, making him jerk away from the splintering plaster. The dragons shrieked and swooped overhead, but the high walls of the convent made it difficult for them to get at the men already in the courtyard.

An explosion suddenly whomped the air outside, and Aramis whipped his gaze back out to see some nuns positioned at another window across the way and tossing down flaming bottles of brandy. Aramis leaned against the wall and angled his musket to take another shot.

A resounding crash sounded from below and he cursed under his breath. They'd broken in.

He grabbed the Queen and pushed her down beneath the window in the small nook. "Stay here," he ordered, then turned and traded his musket for his sword. He crossed himself in penitence for his profanity and charged downstairs to the ground level.

Porthos was already ahead of him and burst out to meet the incoming soldiers with a raging battle cry. Aramis plunged into the fray right behind him, slashing and parrying with everything he had. In the spaces between opponents, he whipped out a pistol and fired at one across the room, then resumed the duel with the next.

Through the open doors, Aramis could see more men outside, but the nuns' bombardment of exploding brandy was providing an effective barrier from them getting inside. He cut down another mercenary, ducked a swing from an incoming blade, and spun around to drive that one back.

"My parents always hoped I'd end up in a place like this," he shouted over the din of battle.

"They wanted you to become a nun?" Porthos yelled back incredulously.

Aramis laughed and slashed at another assailant. "A priest!"

Porthos disarmed a man and then body slammed him into the wall. "Why didn't you?"

"'Cause I found I was better at dispatching people to Hell!" He cut down yet another man.

The onslaught seemed endless, but at long last Aramis slew his last opponent and turned in a full circle amidst a sea of bodies, and no others came charging at him. He looked at Porthos, also still standing, and nodded breathlessly. Porthos returned it, and then the two of them turned their attention to the courtyard outside and carefully ventured forward.

The carnage outside was just as gruesome, with burned bodies lying sprawled on the cobblestone. Through the gates, Aramis saw some men retreating, but Rhaego and Vrita quickly took care of them. After a few more moments, he finally let himself relax. The fight was over.

He turned sharply and jogged back inside to get the Queen. She was still tucked into the nook he'd left her in, arms hugging herself tightly.

"It's over," he said, holding a hand out to help her up.

She took it and stood, lifting her head as she visibly tried to compose herself.

Aramis led her down the hall toward where the nuns had been stationed. "Is everyone all right?" he asked, looking them over.

The Mother Superior nodded. "Praise God."

Aramis grimaced. "My apologies for putting you in this situation."

"'Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and my fingers to battle,'" she replied staunchly. "Psalms 144."

Aramis canted his head in appreciation. "Then my apologies for the desecration you're going to find downstairs."

The lines around her mouth tightened, but she simply nodded again curtly. "We will see their souls properly departed. To whatever fate the Lord has in store."

Porthos came up the stairs. "I can't say whether any of them got away, but they obviously found us somehow. We can't stay here."

Aramis nodded gravely and cast a regretful look at the Mother Superior. "It would be rude to bring so much destruction and then leave without helping to clean it up, but…"

"Nonsense. Of course you must leave at once. I am only sorry this place couldn't have been a refuge for longer."

"It was enough, thank you," Aramis said earnestly.

Anne stepped forward and took the Mother Superior's aged hands. "Your help will not be forgotten."

"God be with you, child. With all of you," she added as they quickly took their leave.

Since all they'd arrived at the convent with was the clothes on their back, there wasn't much to retrieve on their way out, save their weapons that had been scattered during the fighting and the dragons' saddles sitting just inside the main door of the foyer. The Queen didn't seem interested in collecting her opulent dress.

They picked their way over the bodies on their way out to meet up with Rhaego and Vrita in the outer field where they swiftly strapped the saddles onto the dragons' backs.

"Where will we go?" Anne asked.

Aramis exchanged a look with Porthos. That was a good question.

"Let's put some distance between us and here before we figure that out," Aramis hedged.

"Wait!"

He turned as one of the nuns came running out, her arms full with a bundled up napkin.

"It's not much but take it," she said, thrusting it into his hands. One fold fell aside and he saw it had some bread and cheese.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

She nodded and then handed a folded-up cloak to the Queen, ducking her head in an awkward combination of a bow and a curtsey.

"You are most kind," Anne said, wrapping the garment around her shoulders and tying the knot cords.

The nun smiled shyly and backed up to give their dragons room to take off. This time Anne climbed onto Rhaego without assistance, and Aramis swung up behind her. He gave her an apologetic smile as he fastened a belt he'd procured from the convent around her waist that the anchor line could be clipped to. She smiled back, though with a faint blush to her cheeks.

Soon they were ready and Rhaego and Vrita flapped their wings to take to the skies.

They weren't in the air five minutes before a red dragon came out of nowhere, launching up from the forest below to accost them. Rhaego and Vrita banked away as the beast soared between them. Aramis caught a glimpse of a rider aiming a pistol their way and pushed Anne flat against Rhaego's neck. Rhaego veered sharply as the shot cracked the air, the ball sailing past.

Just like before, the red dragon seemed bent on targeting Rhaego's passenger. Vrita swooped in and out trying to divert it, but its rider simply reloaded and shot at them instead.

They careened out over the waters of Bourbon-les-eaux. Aramis pulled out his pistol and twisted in the saddle to get a shot off. The other dragon pushed forward and slammed into Rhaego's flank, trying to knock him out of the sky. Rhaego flipped into a roll and Aramis's stomach lurched into his throat as he fell from the saddle. Anne fell with him, both of them plummeting several feet before their anchor lines snapped taut.

Aramis grunted as his belt punched against his stomach. Anne was dangling wildly beside him and he reached for her. But just as his fingers brushed her sleeve, her rope line snapped. Aramis saw the moment her eyes blew wide and she screamed as she started falling again, arms pinwheeling in the air. He tried to grab her hand but she was gone, plummeting into the lake below.

Aramis didn't think; he unhooked his line and plunged after her.


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos watched in horror as the Queen's anchor line broke and she went plummeting toward the lake. He cursed when a split second later Aramis dove after her. Porthos barely saw him splash into the water as the dragons continued their harried flight through the air and past the lake.

Now riderless, Rhaego twisted and rolled until he was able to get above the other red dragon. Vrita swooped in from below to draw its attention, and Rhaego used the moment of distraction to latch onto the dragon's back and clamp his jaws around the humerus of its wing. The dragon roared as Rhaego ripped out a chunk of flesh and sinew. Rhaego pushed himself away, thwacking his wings to regain his flight, and the other dragon and its rider went spiraling toward the forest below where they crashed into the trees.

Vrita and Rhaego immediately swung around to head back to the lake. Porthos scanned the surface frantically and spotted Aramis swimming to shore, the Queen in his arms. The dragons landed on the bank to wait for them, but as soon as they were in shallow waters, Porthos splashed in to meet them. The Queen was limp in Aramis's arms, her head lolled back against his shoulder.

"Of all the reckless things," Porthos growled as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to shore.

Aramis didn't respond as he staggered after them, dropping to his knees next to the Queen as Porthos laid her out on the grass. His anger was quickly replaced with fear.

"Is she breathin'?"

Aramis bent his head to her breast, then straightened sharply and rolled her onto her side. Raising his hand, he delivered a well-aimed and hard slap to her back between her shoulder blades. Porthos would make a joke about her having them whipped for this if he wasn't terrified they had actually lost the Queen on their watch.

Aramis struck her again and her body jerked. She suddenly sputtered and began to cough up water. Porthos nearly sagged in relief.

Aramis slipped an arm under her and pulled her up against him. "You're okay," he soothed. "I've got you. You're okay."

A strangled sob caught in her throat and she clutched at Aramis's coat as she shuddered in his arms. He continued to whisper calming words and stroked the wet hair away from her face.

Porthos shifted awkwardly. "We need to find cover."

Aramis nodded. "I've got you," he said again, staggering to his feet as he lifted her into his arms.

They moved away from the lake and into the surrounding woods where they quickly found a spot to make temporary camp. Porthos set about gathering wood for a fire while Aramis stayed with the Queen. They were both soaked, and if it was just the musketeers out on a mission, they'd be stripping out of those wet garments before they caught a chill. Aramis sloughed off his coat but thankfully kept the rest of his clothes on and used Rhaego's saddle blanket to wrap the Queen in.

The sticks Porthos was gathering for a fire weren't going to make a very big one, but Vrita found a fallen log, and after stomping it into smaller pieces, they managed to stack up enough to make a little bonfire that would hopefully get them warm and dry faster. Vrita burped a small cloud of flame over it to get it going.

Aramis pulled the corner of the blanket up and tucked it under the Queen's shoulder. She was turned toward the fire, her eyes closed as though she'd fallen asleep.

"How is she?" Porthos asked quietly.

"She had quite a shock," Aramis replied, equally softly. "But she's a very resilient woman."

Porthos huffed at the note of admiration in his tone. "We'd better figure out where we're gonna go now."

Aramis sighed and ran a hand over his wet curls. "We can't go to Pinon and risk leading the enemy to the King. Frankly, I doubt there's any place in France that's safe." He paused, mouth pursing into a thoughtful line. "Maybe we should take her to Spain. Her brother would at least give her protection. Then we could return and join the others."

Porthos canted his head; the idea had merit. More than anything he was coming up with.

"No," Anne's voice interjected, and they both startled slightly as she slowly sat up. "I have been a French Queen longer than I was a daughter of Spain. I will not abandon my husband or my people."

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look.

"We may be roughing it for a while," Aramis pointed out gently.

Though soaked, bedraggled, and wrapped in a ratty blanket, the Queen nevertheless pulled her chin up with regal resolution. "I may be cosseted but I am not afraid of hardship."

Aramis glanced at Porthos and gave a subtle shrug. They couldn't argue with her.

Porthos sighed in resignation and stood up. "Guess I'll find us some dinner."

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan set the latest bundle of weapons he'd acquired on the table in the barn with the rest they'd accumulated so far. "If Cornet's gotten just as much, we should be ready to take on the Cardinal's dragons."

Athos stepped forward and picked up one of the acimite blades to inspect. "This one has some micro fractures."

"Just have to make the strike count," d'Artagnan replied, echoing similar words Athos had said to him so long ago when he'd first joined this group of dragon riders that had later become his family.

Athos nodded and set the sword back down. He picked up a pouch of refroidi next. Along with blades, they'd been getting their hands on alchemical compounds that could be used against dragons, such as the fire quenching crystals and incendie.

"What exactly is your plan of attack?" Treville spoke up from where he was sitting on a barrel. In his time at the house, he'd begun to regain his strength, though he was far from ready to fly into battle with them. He seemed resigned to that, though.

D'Artagnan looked to Athos. "Cut the head off the snake."

"We just have to get through a nest of fire-breathing vipers to get to him," Athos replied dryly.

"Athos!" the King's high-pitched voice called anxiously from outside.

He and d'Artagnan quickly turned to exit the barn and see what was wrong. Louis had been sitting out in the sun—after some major coaxing—but was now on his feet and gazing out at the long dirt drive. D'Artagnan and Athos both preemptively drew their pistols as a single mule-drawn cart rumbled its way down the lane toward the house. Treville hobbled his way to the barn door, having retrieved a pistol as well.

As the cart drew closer, d'Artagnan and Athos exchanged perplexed glances. There was a nun sitting in the driver's seat.

They held their ground and waited as the cart slowly reached them and the nun tugged back on the reins to bring the mule to a stop.

"Good day to you, gentlemen," she said with a genial nod, then looked past them. "Your Majesty."

They stiffened and d'Artagnan's fingers tightened around the grip of his pistol, though he wasn't sure he could make himself shoot a nun…

"Forgive me," she said quickly, noticing their tension. "I am the Mother Superior of the convent south of Bourbon-les-eaux. We recently had the honor of hosting Her Majesty."

D'Artagnan looked at Athos and marginally relaxed.

"Had?" Treville spoke up.

The nun's expression saddened. "Mercenaries attacked the convent, and the Queen and her musketeers were forced to flee."

"When was this?" Athos asked.

"A few days ago."

D'Artagnan shared an alarmed look with the others. They hadn't received word from Aramis or Porthos about having to leave the convent, though there wouldn't be an easy way to send any if Zhar didn't know where to find them. So where had they gone? Had they been pursued…or caught?

Louis broke the stunned silence with a strangled sound of distress. "So now I've lost my wife too," he bemoaned.

"We don't know she's dead," d'Artagnan immediately argued. Yes, he was worried too, but they couldn't jump to conclusions.

"Do not lose faith, Your Majesty," the Mother Superior said. She then gestured to the cart behind her. "I have brought supplies. With Messieurs Aramis and Porthos no longer staying with us, I had to find another way to get them to the Musketeers."

D'Artagnan and Athos moved forward and flipped back the tarpaulin covering the back. D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply at the numerous bottles of brandy stuffed with cloth.

"They make effective incendiary devices," the nun explained, then added ruefully, "We had occasion to test them."

"Nice to see Aramis and Porthos found a way to keep busy at the convent," d'Artagnan smirked.

"It was the sisters who saw to this," the Mother Superior replied curtly.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise. "Oh. Sorry."

"Why?" Athos asked.

She turned her serious expression on him. "We thought the King's Men could use all the help they could get."

Well, that was true. D'Artagnan just never expected such help to come from quarters like these.

"Why bother when there is no point?" Louis spoke up again, then turned on his heel and stormed into the house.

A beat passed and d'Artagnan decided to follow. He trailed after the King into the sitting room and found him reaching for a wine bottle. D'Artagnan stared at him incredulously as he slumped in a chair and knocked back a swig. Hair mussed and face unshaven, he looked the picture of ruin. And it made d'Artagnan angry.

"You need to snap out of this!" he exclaimed abruptly, snatching the bottle out of the King's hand. Louis spluttered in shock and d'Artagnan plowed on. "This is your country at stake! Your people who are suffering at the hands of Richelieu. You need to stop wallowing in self-pity, get up, and help take back your throne!"

Louis finally found his voice and surged to his feet. "Are you suggesting I personally walk into a war we can't possibly win?"

"It's not lost yet," d'Artagnan spat. "And if you do, if you show up to fight for your people, your people will find cause to stand up and fight with you." He gestured sharply toward the door. "Just look at what a group of _nuns_ have done!"

"I _can't_ ," Louis whined, turning away.

D'Artagnan sucked in a harsh breath. "Are you the King or not!"

"D'Artagnan," Treville's voice spoke in low warning from the doorway.

He bit back the next words he wanted to say and took a step back, realizing he'd probably crossed the line. He was still thrumming with anger, frustration…and disappointment. He'd spent the past couple of years defending his monarch and pretending that Louis was worthy of his devotion and loyalty. But all d'Artagnan had really been fighting for was a stuffed figure in a crown. Because take away the title and what was left? This pathetic, wretched excuse for a man.

And d'Artagnan suddenly felt as though everything he'd worked so hard to achieve, everything he'd fought to protect, had been based on a lie.

He turned on his heel and stormed out.

.o.0.o.

Louis watched d'Artagnan leave without having been dismissed, but oddly he felt nothing at the slight. A few weeks ago—hell, even a few days ago—he would have demanded respect and threatened to have d'Artagnan whipped for daring to speak to him that way.

But they were far from the palace and the host of servants and guards that were at Louis's beck and call. He was now an exile hiding out in an abandoned villa. He held no authority anymore, not even over the simplest things such as where he wanted to sleep or what he wanted to eat. He was powerless.

More than that, though, he was a coward. He couldn't deny it. He had lived a mostly sheltered life, delegating the hard tasks to those beneath him…letting the Cardinal handle the nitty gritty affairs. Armand had fooled him. Louis thought Richelieu was his friend, but he'd taken the throne without a fight, reduced Louis to…this.

And now Anne was gone. Missing, or perhaps dead. She had been such a rock for Louis in recent months and he couldn't bear the thought of living without her.

Treville was still standing in the doorway. "D'Artagnan is young," he spoke up softly. "He hasn't lived through coups or war." He shuffled stiffly into the room. "I remember when your mother tried to take the throne. We defeated her in the end, and we will defeat Richelieu too."

Louis swallowed hard. "Do you think I should join the fight?" he asked quietly.

Treville's expression furrowed but he didn't answer.

"You have always prided yourself on telling your King the truth," Louis pointed out. "So tell it."

"Your Majesty is not a soldier," Treville said carefully. "It's not your duty to fight."

Louis shook his head. Was he wrought so low that he no longer deserved even candidness?

"Kings used to lead their soldiers into battle," he mused aloud. "My father was a dragon rider."

Treville remained quiet.

Louis came to a decision then. He would not let himself be reduced to this. He would not dishonor his father, the Crown, the country, by lying down like a sniveling dog to die in exile.

"D'Artagnan is right," he said. "It is my responsibility to take back the throne."

"Your Majesty—" Treville said hesitantly.

Louis cut him off. "I have been sheltered and privileged my entire life, especially after my father was killed." He paused. "I was too young to become a king. But we are past that now. The Cardinal is not the rightful leader of France. And I am not going to simply hand over my country to him without a fight."

It was time for him to become a man—and a true king.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to include this piece at the end of last chapter. I actually made it back in Dec of 2019 when I first started writing this AU. I always knew this was the Cardinal's endgame. *g*


	7. Chapter 7

Constance picked her way through the forest, navigating the landmarks and places she'd marked so she could easily find the animal traps she'd set up.

It'd been difficult living in the mountains, cut off from the world and the comforts of home she and her father had lived with their entire lives. But the dragons had found them a large cave that was warm and dry, and the Musketeer dragon riders periodically brought them supplies when they could. They weren't completely on their own. It was rough, but they were making do, and they were alive.

She knelt down and pulled the foliage away from one of the traps to retrieve the hare that'd been snared within. That and the berries she'd foraged earlier would be dinner tonight.

She stuffed the hare into her sack and then reset the trap before heading back to the cave. It was situated at the base of a jutting peak, with a rocky clearing surrounding the entrance, but the surrounding pines were tall enough to conceal it from far-reaching eyes. As she made her way under the green canopy, she heard a distant dragon call that was answered by one of their own; someone giving directions to newcomers.

Constance quickened her pace and emerged from the woods just as Savron and Ayelet were touching down outside the cave. Her heart leaped with joy at the sight of her husband and she ran forward. He turned just in time for her to drop her sack and throw her arms around him.

D'Artagnan hugged back just as fiercely. "God I missed you," he whispered in her ear, then moved his mouth to cover hers.

She drank him in, heedless of the others he'd arrived with. It wasn't until she heard her father greeting His Majesty that her brain caught up with her and she broke the passionate embrace with an embarrassed flush. D'Artagnan bit his lip like he was trying to hold back a guilty—albeit unashamed—grin.

Ayelet took that as her opening to squawk her own hello, and Constance smiled as she reached out to pat the young dragon's nose.

"Has something happened?" Jean asked worriedly, looking between the King, Athos, and Treville.

"No," Athos replied. "We're here because…" He paused and glanced at the King.

"I'm here to learn to ride a dragon," Louis declared, then amended, "My dragon."

Constance's brows rose sharply in disbelief. Her father looked equally flabbergasted but hid it more quickly.

"Uh, well, Dragor should be at the stream just through those trees. You wish to start now or…?"

Louis looked nervous but nevertheless nodded. "Might as well."

"All right, the saddle is in the cave…"

"We can use Savron's," Athos put in, turning to his dragon and removing some wrapped bundles from the saddlebags. "We brought what stores we had," he added, setting them on the ground.

"That's good," Jean said in relief. "We don't have much food for more than two."

"We thought as much," Athos replied.

With the bags unloaded, Jean then gestured for the King, Athos, and Savron to follow him into the woods.

"What is that all about?" Constance asked once they were out of earshot.

D'Artagnan gave a half shrug. "The King is finally ready to fight for his kingdom."

Constance shook her head, still having trouble believing it. "I never thought I'd see the day…"

"He may be King, but until now he's been just a boy," Treville spoke up sagely.

"We all have to grow up sometime," d'Artagnan said quietly.

Constance dropped her gaze. Indeed.

D'Artagnan touched her arm, his expression pinching. "Have you had any word from Aramis or Porthos?"

She furrowed her brow. "No, why?"

He sighed. "They were attacked at the convent. All we know is they got away, but there's been no word on where they've gone or if they're still okay."

"I'm sure they're fine," Constance said quickly. "You know them, they're always getting in and out of trouble."

D'Artagnan's smile was pained and they both knew she was only trying to make themselves feel better.

The moment broke as Treville bent down to pick up the bags, only to pause and wince.

"I got it, Captain," d'Artagnan said, darting in to grab them.

Treville's jaw looked tight but he didn't protest. Constance moved forward and took his arm.

"Let me welcome you to our humble home," she said, guiding him toward the cave entrance. "Ayelet, there's room for dragons," she called over her shoulder.

Ayelet chirped happily and proceeded to follow.

There wasn't room for all seven dragons to bunk with them at the same time, so two at a time had been taking turns. At this time of day, they were all outside, so there was plenty of space. Rugs and blankets had been laid out against one wall, and there was a small cooking fire next to that. A little further back was a net they could hang their catches from. Constance remembered the sack she'd dropped outside and made a mental note to retrieve it after she got everyone settled.

She steered Treville over to the blankets and helped him sit. He didn't argue, confirming her suspicion that he was wrung out from the flight here.

"How's your wound?" she asked.

"It's fine," he replied a tad gruffly, then shook his head with an apologetic look. "I suppose I just don't heal as quickly as I used to."

Constance dropped her gaze. And some wounds healed more quickly than others. "I'm sorry about Kilgar," she said softly, looking up to meet his eye again.

Treville swallowed hard and nodded. "He was a good dragon. A good friend." He looked away then. "But we were both too old to fight another war."

Constance didn't know what to say to that. She put a comforting hand on his arm and looked up to meet d'Artagnan's equally grieved expression. This battle wasn't over.

Which meant neither was its casualties.

.o.0.o.

Louis clung tightly to the saddle horn as Dragor shuffled around in a circle next to the stream. The dragon's gait was far more cumbersome than a horse, though his bulk allowed for slightly less jostling. Still, Louis didn't feel at all secure on its back.

"Don't be afraid," Bonacieux coached.

"I'm not afraid," he snapped back irritably, though he was. His recent experiences on the back of Athos's dragon had done nothing to make him any more prepared for this. He tried badgering himself into being confident, like a king, but it wasn't working. "How am I supposed to do this without any reins?" he complained.

"Alright, stop," Bonacieux said, and the dragon did, just like that. Bonacieux walked over and beckoned for Louis to dismount.

Grumbling under his breath, he hastily slid out of the saddle, secretly glad to be on his own feet.

Bonacieux gestured for him to walk around to the dragon's front, then took Louis's hand and placed it directly on the dragon's snout. "Look into his eyes. This is not an ordinary beast. He is a partner, a friend. Trust him and he will trust you."

Louis fidgeted being this close to the dragon's jaws.

Bonacieux sighed. "You were probably too young to remember, but your father sometimes took you flying with him."

Louis snapped his gaze to the side in surprise. "He did?"

Bonacieux nodded. "On Dragor."

Louis turned back to the dragon and was suddenly struck by its soulful eyes gazing back at him. Dragor dipped his head just a fraction. He remembered.

Louis found himself transfixed. Within those amber depths he saw compassion and intelligence. He'd always viewed his collection of dragons as symbols of power, as specimens of his might. Oh, he'd seen the bond his "animals" had with their Musketeer riders, but he hadn't given it much thought beyond his men being silly and sentimental.

He now knew he was wrong. And for perhaps the first time in his entire life, Louis bowed his head with humble respect for the majestic creature he was asking to serve him. His father's dragon— _his_ dragon.

Dragor pushed subtly against Louis's hand, which he was going to interpret as approval.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Bonacieux and went around to climb into the saddle again. He tried not to grip the pommel so tightly, tried to put his trust in his dragon to take care of him.

They did a few more circuits in the small clearing, letting Louis get used to the feel of being in the saddle. He was still nervous, and his heart fluttered as he leaned forward to ask his dragon, "Shall we attempt flying?"

Dragor craned his head around and inclined it in agreement. Louis's palms were already growing sweaty and he didn't know how he was going to hold on…

"Let's switch saddles," Athos broke in. "Dragor's will fit him better for flight."

"Oh, alright."

Louis dismounted again and they all made their way back to the cave. While Bonacieux went inside to get Dragor's saddle, Athos removed the one he currently had on and put it back on his dragon.

Bonacieux reemerged and made his way over to put the other saddle on Dragor. When that was done, Louis climbed up again.

"Your anchor line," Bonacieux reminded him, and Louis quickly clipped it on. He definitely didn't want to forget that.

Athos came over and handed him a spare pair of leather gloves. Of course, an experienced dragon rider would think of everything. Could Louis really learn it all in time? And then fly into battle?

But he had no choice.

He slipped the gloves on and tried to prepare himself. Dragon riders did this all the time; how hard could it be?

Athos swung up onto Savron and they took to the sky first. Dragor cocked his head back at Louis as though asking if he was ready, and he gave a shaky nod and held on. Dragor gave a mighty flap of his wings and leaped into the air.

Louis's stomach lurched into his throat at the rush of wind buffeting around him. He made the mistake of looking down at the quickly receding ground and squeezed his eyes shut in terror. But then his dragon leveled out a few dozen yards above the tops of the trees, and Louis managed to prize his eyes open.

The forest rolled by beneath him, and he felt another zing of fear at being so high, but then he was struck with a profound sense of awe. The forested mountains stretched out before them into a distant horizon; the peaks rose into the white speckled sky at their backs. Louis forced himself to straighten marginally in the saddle and took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. This was…this was incredible.

Dragor veered left and circled around, gliding through the air like a fish through water. Off to the side, Savron matched his trajectory, and for a while they simply flew in wide loops around the immediate area. Louis began to shiver from the cold but he didn't dare bring this experience to an end.

And then Athos yelled across the wind.

"Stop!"

Dragor banked back around to rejoin Savron in a hover, the blue dragon and his rider gazing intently out at something across the pass. It was a red dragon.

"Down, now!" Athos ordered, and both dragons moved into a dive.

This time Louis tightened his fingers into a death grip again and leaned backward in the saddle like one would do with a horse going downhill. But a horse didn't have wind roaring around it and the ground rushing up to meet them.

The dragons pulled up in time to make a soft landing on an exposed cleft and then shuffled quickly under the cover of the trees. Athos drew his pistol and held it at the ready, waiting to see if the red dragon came closer.

Louis swallowed nervously. What if they had been seen? What if the red dragon was heading back to report their location to the Cardinal right now?

A gust of wind whipped overhead as another dragon soared past, but this one wasn't red. Athos's dragon suddenly threw its head back and let out a trumpet call that sent Louis's heart into overdrive. But when the green dragon swung back around to land on the cleft, Louis recognized the man on its back as one of his musketeers.

"Athos!" Porthos exclaimed. "What are you doin' out here?"

"I could ask the same of you but there's a red dragon out there. Unless…"

Porthos quirked his brow in surprise as his gaze roved over Louis, but then he blinked and jerked his attention back to Athos. "Oh. Yeah, that's Rhaego. We were flyin' spaced apart tryin' not to draw attention in case there were scouts about."

"Is the Queen safe?" Louis blurted.

Porthos nodded. "Yeah, she's wit' Aramis."

As though on cue, his dragon turned its head and sent out a call. The red dragon in the distance suddenly turned toward them.

Porthos turned back to them. "What are you doin' here?" he asked again. "We only decided to come out this way because we figured it was the safest place in France where the King _wasn't_."

"It's a long story," Athos replied.

The red dragon arrived and Porthos's dragon shuffled over to make room for it to land. Louis spotted his wife and swung out of the saddle.

"Anne!"

Her eyes widened upon seeing him, and then the musketeer at her back was helping her to dismount. Louis fervently took her by the arms, hesitating for only a split second before putting his own around her.

"I was so worried," he breathed.

There was an awkward moment before she slowly returned the embrace. "I'm fine," she assured him, then pulled back and scanned his face with concern. "Are you? I didn't expect to find you here."

He nodded. "It was time I took an active role in preparing to take back the crown."

Her brows knitted together in confusion, and then her gaze slid past him to Dragor. "Are you flying?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he answered proudly. "I'll need to know how if I'm going to lead my men into battle against the Cardinal."

He didn't miss the utterly shocked looks Porthos and Aramis shot Athos's way, but he didn't call them on it. He understood their surprise, doubt even. He hadn't fully convinced himself yet that he was capable.

But he would work hard until he was.

"We should get back to the cave," Athos interjected. "There is much to catch up on."

.o.0.o.

Over the next few days, Jean and the musketeers worked with the King on his flying, sword fighting, and even marksmanship, though it turned out he wasn't a bad shot.

Zhar came and went with messages from the other musketeers in hiding as they planned to regroup and prepare for their final stand.

Athos and Aramis made the trip back to Pinon to retrieve the weapons cache stored there.

"I say we wrap up the swords and just let the dragons carry them," Aramis said, surveying the amount.

Athos nodded in silent agreement. The alchemical compounds they could stuff into their saddlebags. The brandy bottles from the convent, however, were going to be more problematic. They wouldn't be able to take very many.

Savron let out a low bark, and they turned their heads to follow his gaze. Athos frowned when he saw a large handful of villagers heading toward them, led by Bertrand.

Athos stepped out to greet them. "Gentlemen."

Bertrand nodded. "Athos." He glanced at the weapons laid out. "You're returning to Paris?"

"Yes…"

"We're ready to march with you."

Athos furrowed his brow in confusion. "I don't…"

Bertrand gestured to the assembled men. "We want to fight. You could use more men, couldn't you?"

Athos shared a flustered look with Aramis before turning back to the villagers. "There's no need for you to risk your lives."

"What good are our lives if the Cardinal continues his reign of terror? His dragons have already spread to villages outside of Paris, ransacking livestock. How long do you think it will be before he stretches that hand over the rest of France?" Bertrand shook his head. "You taught us to stand up and fight for our way of life, and that's what we're going to do."

Athos didn't know what to say other than to simply tell them no and end the discussion, but Aramis spoke first.

"Can you get this cart to Paris by tomorrow?" he asked, gesturing to the brandy bottles.

Bertrand nodded.

"Then yes, we could use support on the ground with the guards in the street." Aramis took a step closer and lowered his voice earnestly. "Are you sure? You don't have to do this."

Bertrand looked at his men, who all gave silent nods of resolution. And so Athos and Aramis handed over the cart to their possession.

Athos paused as they started to leave, then said, "Your courage and selflessness will not be forgotten. I will make sure the King knows of it."

He and Aramis gathered up the rest of the weapons and returned to the mountain hideout where other dragon riders were beginning to assemble. Those without dragons already had their weapons stash and were gathering in the woods outside Paris. Athos sent Zhar to let them know about the people of Pinon coming to join the fight.

They spent the rest of the day finishing preparations, for the following morning they would set off. Treville would stay in the mountains with Jean and Constance and protect the Queen.

The musketeers stood in a wide circle, sharing staunch looks of resolve. Tomorrow's battle could very well be the last for some of them. And victory would be hard won, should they achieve it.

But this was their duty, their oath. The Musketeers would make their stand.

"For France. For the King."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last, the final showdown! Some of you might recognize a few elements borrowed from another version of the Three Musketeers. ;)

D'Artagnan adjusted the strap of Ayelet's saddle one last time, making sure it was secure but not too tight. "This is it," he said, patting the side of her neck. "We're finally flying into battle together."

Ayelet chirped enthusiastically.

D'Artagnan gave her a small smile in return but his expression was sober. "It won't be like the things you've faced before," he warned. "It won't be like anything I've faced before either," he added quietly.

Oh, he'd fought a dragon or two in his time. But never an army. And never when the stakes were so high.

He reached out and placed his palm on Ayelet's snout. "I'm glad to be flying with you, though."

She let out a low mewl and pressed back against his hand.

Constance came out of the cave, and d'Artagnan readied himself to say goodbye, but then he noticed she was dressed in trousers and there was a sword swinging from her belt. She walked over to Zhar, who was wearing a saddle even though he had no rider.

"What are you doing?" d'Artagnan asked carefully.

"What's it look like?" she replied. "I'm going with you."

D'Artagnan's mouth moved soundlessly for a moment. "Constance…"

She pivoted on her heel to face him. "I can ride and fight as well as any man. You should know," she added cheekily.

He wisely didn't say anything contrary to that. Actually, he felt both a conflicting mixture of pride and worry, and he didn't know what to do with it. But it was clear Constance had made up her mind and nothing he could say would change it.

So he simply reached out to squeeze her hand and nodded before turning to mount up.

The rest of the musketeers climbed onto their dragons as well, and then one by one they began to launch into the sky.

It was only a couple of hours to Paris, and soon plumes of smoke could be seen rising from the city. The mood among them was somber as they drew closer, the scorched and ruined remains of torched buildings coming into view. An alarm bell started sounding. D'Artagnan braced himself as red dragons began to rise into the air to meet them.

Louis on Dragor was kept in the rear of their formation; the King may have wanted to lead his troops into battle but that didn't mean they weren't still going to protect him. Besides, the main goal was to reach the palace so they could retake the seat of power. In this initial assault, the humans could mostly only hold on as their dragons plowed right through the enemy horde.

Aramis had several muskets strapped to Rhaego's saddle, loaded with acimite balls, and he took aim and fired. One of the Cardinal's dragons shrieked and banked away. Aramis quickly drew a second and lined up another shot.

In the next second, the two waves of dragons met in a clash of bone-rattling roars and gnashing teeth. Ayelet veered sharply to avoid slashing talons, her lithe frame giving her more speed and agility. Columns of fire exploded in the air around them.

D'Artagnan watched Porthos on Vrita fly straight at a red dragon that was opening its mouth to spew an inferno at them. Porthos drew back the band of a slingshot and launched a pouch of refroidi into the other dragon's mouth. It fell into a dive as it choked and sputtered on its quenched fire.

Other dragons met in full on clashes, tangled bodies dropping out of the sky to crash into the city below. D'Artagnan held on as Ayelet swooped low and around, spitting fire at a red dragon's back. A musket ball whizzed past them and d'Artagnan jerked his gaze to the streets where red guards were taking aim at dragons coming in low.

But then a series of explosions started erupting around them and d'Artagnan spotted French citizens swarming into the streets and charging the guards with clubs and pitchforks. He couldn't help but quirk a small smile at the sight.

The musketeers pressed on toward the palace. They just needed to reach the grounds so they could storm the Louvre and their dragons could then return to the battle in the sky.

Ayelet was swiftly breaking out into the lead, along with Zhar. Up ahead, d'Artagnan saw a red guard on a rooftop taking aim with a crossbow. An obsidian bolt glittered in the notch—and it was aimed at Constance.

D'Artagnan whipped out his pistol to shoot, the report cracking the air at the same time the trigger was released. The red guard fell, but the bolt zinged through the air and struck Zhar in the chest. With a screech, the dragon's wings gave out and he fell out of the sky.

"No!" d'Artagnan screamed. He tightened his legs against Ayelet, signaling for her to turn around. In the back of his mind he knew his duty was to keep heading for the palace, to keep his head on the mission. But he couldn't.

Ayelet swung back and swept low past gouged rooftops until they spotted Zhar collapsed in one of the market squares amidst splintered stalls. He was writhing and throwing his head around with pained keens. D'Artagnan's heart punched against his rib cage when he saw Constance alive and on her feet but dueling a squad of red guards that were pouring into the square.

He unclipped his anchor line and prepared to jump into the fray as Ayelet swooped in, landing right on top of the guards in the rear. D'Artagnan leaped from the saddle, brandishing his sword as other guards whirled to face him. Ayelet trounced anyone who tried to get up after getting knocked down.

D'Artagnan fought his way to his wife, and both of them ended up running through the last guard standing at the same time. Their wide eyes met over the skewered man's shoulder, and then they yanked their blades free and stepped over his fallen corpse to embrace.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently, pulling back to look her over.

"I'm not hurt," she said brusquely, turning away and rushing to Zhar's side. She sheathed her sword and ran her hands around the bolt sticking out of his chest. "Easy," she warned as she gripped it firmly near the base and yanked as hard as she could. Zhar threw his head back and shrieked.

Constance quickly examined the tip of the bolt before tossing it away and looking at the wound. "Alright, it's alright. You'll be okay," she soothed, stroking his neck. "Just stay here." She glanced at Ayelet. "Stay with him?"

Ayelet's face scrunched up in displeasure at the idea of not sticking with them.

"We can't risk the air again," d'Artagnan said regretfully. "Besides, the palace isn't far." He reached out and patted her shoulder. "The battle's not over yet."

She smacked her jaw unhappily but nodded and moved closer to Zhar.

Constance drew her sword again and looked to d'Artagnan. With a nod, they set off down the street toward the palace. Screeches and roars continued to ring out through the air along with the crack of musket fire. D'Artagnan hoped the others had gotten through by now.

The sounds of clomping boots and armor sounded up ahead and d'Artagnan and Constance pulled up short as another troop of red guards appeared. D'Artagnan swallowed hard, flicking a fearful glance at his wife.

But in the next instant, there was a battle cry and several armed men came charging from a side street to break against the red guards. D'Artagnan and Constance leaped into the fight, slashing and parrying, the strident screech of steel momentarily drowning out the battle over the city.

The troop was swiftly dispatched and d'Artagnan blinked in surprise to find himself surrounded by a group of musketeers thought to be lost. They all looked dirty and battle-torn, but alive.

D'Artagnan shook his head with a half giddy chuckle. "Aren't you all a sight for sore eyes."

Christophe, Alain, Pierre, and others, gave weary nods of greeting.

"You didn't think we'd miss this," Christophe quipped.

D'Artagnan grinned and clapped him on the back. "Come on, we have to get to the palace."

.o.0.o.

Aramis fired his last musket, hitting a red dragon through the throat, and finally broke through the maelstrom of gnashing teeth and brimstone. Right behind him were Athos, Porthos, and the King, along with a handful of other musketeers. Others were still engaged in mid-air dogfights. Aramis had lost sight of several of their own, but he couldn't afford to turn back now. They had to press on.

The dragons reached the palace grounds and swooped in for rough landings, barely touching the dirt before their riders were leaping from the saddles. Once the musketeers were clear, the dragons launched back into the sky and back toward their faltering brethren.

The musketeers and Louis stormed into the palace where they were immediately met with armed guards. Aramis slashed and parried, cutting down his opponents with swift vengeance. These red guards were poorly trained and barely stood a chance.

The musketeers cut through the onslaught and pushed further into the palace in search of Richelieu. They burst into the throne room and found a bunch of servants cowering by the wall.

"Everyone out," Athos ordered briskly, gesturing for them to flee out the way the musketeers had come in.

Porthos snagged one of the men, who Aramis belatedly recognized as one of the council members. "Where's the Cardinal?" Porthos growled.

"Up-upstairs," the minister bleated. "His office."

Porthos shoved him away and they all moved toward the doors at the opposite end of the room. From there, they made their way up to the next level where they came across another large grouping of guards outside Richelieu's office. With multiple battle cries, the musketeers charged.

They were pushing their enemy back, but then Louis cried out and stumbled away from the guard he'd been dueling. Every musketeer nearby converged to protect the King, who was clutching his bleeding left arm. Athos swooped in to dispatch the guard while Etienne pulled Louis back.

Aramis was at the other end of the fight, and after slaying another opponent, he turned and kicked in the doors of Richelieu's office. He stormed inside, bloodstained sword brandished, and caught the Cardinal opening a secret panel in the back wall. Aramis pulled his last pistol—he'd been saving it—and fired a warning shot at the wall.

Richelieu jerked away from the smattering of plaster and turned around, nostrils flaring and expression livid.

Aramis calmly clipped his pistol back to his belt and moved forward. "Now you will finally answer for your crimes," he said.

For Adele. For Savoy. And so much more.

Richelieu scoffed. "Haven't you figured it out by now? The Cardinal is not answerable to the laws of man."

Aramis's blood boiled with righteous fury and he angled his blade higher. "Then you'll answer to God."

Richelieu gazed back at him, unfazed. "You first." The crack of a pistol firing rent the air and a puff of sparks and smoke billowed past the Cardinal's robes.

Aramis felt the bone-shattering punch in the center of his chest and his world exploded in pain before quickly being replaced with all-consuming blackness.

.o.0.o.

Porthos caught his opponent's sword arm and torqued it until bone cracked, then flipped him over and followed through with his own blade plunged into the red guard's chest. He whirled toward the open doors of Richelieu's office and froze at the sight of Aramis lying motionless on the floor inside. All the oxygen whooshed from his lungs in that moment, and he surged forward, barreling right between other men engaged in combat to get to his brother.

He skidded to his knees on the smooth floor next to Aramis's still form just as a secret panel in the wall slid shut. Porthos hesitated for a split second before casting thoughts of pursuit aside and focusing on his friend. He couldn't see a wound or blood, but there was the distinct scent of smoke and gunpowder on the air. Porthos began urgently patting Aramis down in search of injury.

Athos rushed in and dropped down beside him. "Is he dead?" he asked tautly.

Before Porthos could answer, Aramis suddenly came awake with a ragged gasp and lurched upward. Both Porthos and Athos startled harshly, and then grasped desperately at their brother as Aramis fell back with hitched breaths, his hand flailing against his chest.

Porthos struggled to undo the clasps of his coat and get a look underneath. As he yanked the laces of the shirt apart, he blinked in befuddlement at the gold crucifix the Queen had gifted Aramis, now mangled and dented with a musket ball right in the center. Athos reached over and picked it up almost reverently.

Aramis craned his head up to look. "See? There is a God," he said breathlessly, then groaned and dropped his head on the floor again. Beneath where the cross had lain was a darkening bruise on his chest. Aramis grunted again and tried to roll over to get up. "The Cardinal- getting- away."

"I saw," Porthos muttered, jumping to his feet and going to the wall to search for the secret lever that would open the escape tunnel. Remembering the other one d'Artagnan had found, he yanked at a candlestick fixture.

The wall creaked and slid open.

A couple of musketeers burst into the room then and looked around in confusion.

Athos helped Aramis to his feet and handed him off to Etienne. "Get him out of here." He then turned and nodded to Porthos, and they both hurried into the tunnel after the Cardinal.

Fortunately, it had only one route and they didn't have to waste time guessing which juncture to take, though they did have to stop long enough to light one of the torches so they could see where they were going.

They ran as quickly as they could considering the light didn't penetrate very far ahead, but soon there was the soft glow of daylight, and they came out of the tunnel outside the palace walls.

"Richelieu!" Athos bellowed.

The Cardinal had been striding swiftly across the grass but stopped abruptly at his name. For a moment, he stood stock still before slowly turning around to face them.

"It's over," Athos said.

The Cardinal's eye twitched.

A thwack of wings sounded from above and a red dragon swooped down to land behind him. Richelieu glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the musketeers with a wide grin.

"I think it's over for you. You can join your friend in Hell."

Porthos and Athos arched their brows at each other.

Porthos folded his arms across his chest and smirked. "Aramis ain't dead. Your shot missed."

Richelieu's expression faltered.

"Also," Porthos went on, "I don' think you've been properly introduced to his dragon." He nodded to the red creature behind him.

Richelieu hesitated, his expression slackening further, and he slowly turned around. Rhaego bared his fangs.

Porthos watched with vicious satisfaction as the man screamed and Rhaego silenced him—for all eternity.

In the ensuing quiet, Porthos and Athos turned their gazes to the skies, which were clear of red dragons.

They'd won.


	9. Chapter 9

Rhaego took the Cardinal's body up to the highest steeple on the Louvre and let out a mighty roar at the top of his lungs. Athos didn't know exactly what he was saying, but the message was clear: the usurper was dead; the Musketeers were victorious.

As Athos and Porthos made their way back around to the front of the palace, they saw a few red dragons rise up from the ruins of the city and fly away, some with riders, others without. No one gave pursuit. The battle was hard won and there was much to handle on the ground now that they had.

Upon re-entering the palace, they found Lemay already stitching a sword slice in the King's arm. A few musketeers were dragging bodies away while others were rounding up those who had surrendered.

Athos walked over to the King. "It's over, Your Majesty."

Louis swallowed hard, looking pale and a little green as the needle tugged at his flesh. "The Cardinal?" he asked hesitantly.

"Dead."

Louis nodded and lowered his gaze.

Athos turned just as d'Artagnan and Constance came in, and he smiled softly to see them both alive.

"We saw Rhaego on the roof," d'Artagnan said, a grin on his face. "We did it."

Athos nodded. They had.

"Would you stop hovering?" Aramis's irritated voice filtered across the room. "I'm fine."

"You were shot!" Porthos countered angrily.

D'Artagnan's and Constance's eyes widened in alarm and they both hurried over to where Porthos was attempting to keep Aramis seated in a chair.

"Since the ball didn't actually puncture anything, I hardly think it qualifies as being shot," Aramis argued.

"Given what your comrades told me," Lemay called over, "you could have at the very least a cracked breastbone. You should sit still until I can take a look."

Porthos crossed his arms smugly. "See? Doctor's orders."

Aramis huffed and slumped indignantly in the chair. The wince it caused belied his earlier protestations.

"Are you all right?" Constance asked worriedly.

He gentled his expression for her. "Yes."

"Show 'em," Porthos challenged.

Aramis sighed and lifted the crucifix with its newly studded lead ball in the center. "Such a shame," he lamented.

"I think your life makes up for the loss," Athos commented dryly.

"I'll stay with him," Constance said. "Make sure he stays put."

"I do not need a chaperone—" Aramis started.

She skewered him with a stern glower, effectively cutting him off.

Athos's lips twitched in amusement and he nodded approvingly; there was much work to be done in the aftermath of battle.

He, Porthos, and d'Artagnan headed outside just as Christophe was making his way across the palace grounds toward them.

"Cornet is dead," he reported somberly. "His dragon is severely injured. Two other pairs of dragons and riders were killed too. We're still counting the casualties on the ground."

Athos absorbed the information with stoic gravity. "We'll need Jean," he said. "And with the Cardinal dead, it's safe for the Queen to return as well."

"I'll go," Porthos volunteered.

Athos nodded in agreement, then started giving orders to Christophe and d'Artagnan for the beginnings of cleanup. They needed to collect the dead and wounded, see them to the appropriate places.

Everyone left to get started, leaving Athos to continue taking charge at the palace. Before he could turn to go back inside, though, Louis walked over to him, arm in a sling. The King didn't say anything for a long moment as he gazed out at what could be seen of the smoking ruins of Paris. Athos didn't move or speak either.

"It will be difficult to recover from this," Louis finally said.

Athos nodded slowly. Whether he meant the physical destruction or the emotional betrayal, he was correct either way.

Athos hesitated; he knew what Treville would say in this situation. He felt no such freedom with the King, but they had been through much together recently. Perhaps he could…

He angled himself slightly to face Louis. "But we will recover," he said firmly.

Louis flicked a look at him, then inclined his head.

Yes, they would.

.o.0.o.

Despite Doctor Lemay confirming the diagnosis of a cracked sternum, Aramis had no intention of taking to a sick bed for rest. There were many injured, including dragons, and his help was needed.

"I can handle it, you know," Constance pressed as the two of them, along with Rhaego, made their way to the dragon compound.

"Last I heard, the barracks at the garrison was in ruins, so I'm fairly certain my room is no longer available," he countered.

Constance huffed. "I will put you down in my bed if I have to."

He placed a hand to his wounded chest and gave her a scandalized look. "Madame d'Artagnan, whatever would your husband say?"

"I would slap you if you weren't wounded."

"That wounds me."

Behind them, Rhaego let out a wheezing chortle.

Their bantering ceased as they stepped into the dragon compound. The place was in shambles: items thrown about haphazardly, refuse everywhere. The Red Guard and their dragons had sure made a mess of things. Even some of the furniture from the Bonacieux home had been tossed out in the dirt.

Aramis reached out and gently touched Constance's elbow. Her eyes were moist as she looked around her home, but then she looked up at him and composed herself.

"We'd better start triaging," she said.

Aramis smiled. "See? You do need my help."

She rolled her eyes and started toward the work shed. "You see if there's any medicinal supplies and I'll start cleaning out the dens for the wounded. And get yourself a chair!" she lobbed over her shoulder.

Aramis shook his head and got to work. It wasn't long before dragons started making their way in, and then Aramis and Constance were busy tending to the myriad of wounds. Field medicine didn't carry quite the same amount of adrenaline that battle did, and Aramis was feeling the pain in his chest more and more, but he kept pushing through it.

D'Artagnan and Ayelet arrived with Zhar hobbling between them, and Constance yelled for Aramis to come help.

"He got hit with a bolt," she said. "When I pulled it, a shard had broken off inside, not deep though. I don't know if it splintered inside or not."

Aramis moved around as Constance coaxed Zhar into lying down on his side so they could get a look. The dragon mewled pitifully.

Aramis peered closely at the wound. "I think there's just two splinters," he said. "I left the forceps over there…"

"I'll get them," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis cleaned the wound while Constance kept Zhar calm throughout the ministrations. He then held his hand out for the forceps and bent close to pluck those shards out. Fortunately, in the right light, acimite was easy to see; unfortunately, sometimes it took a lot of twisting and angling to catch the right light.

But finally Aramis was satisfied he'd gotten all the shrapnel out. He staggered away from the dragon and braced a hand against his chest, his breathing coming more shallowly and painfully.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan called worriedly.

"'M…fine," he wheezed. "Just need…a minute."

"I appreciate the help, Aramis, but you're done," Constance declared. "D'Artagnan, get him inside the house. Assuming those barbarians didn't rip up the mattresses."

"There's still too much to be done," Aramis tried to argue.

"My father's almost here," she replied, giving a clipped nod toward the north. Sure enough, a small cloud of dark shapes was headed their way.

"Then I should help Doctor Lemay…"

" _Aramis_ ," d'Artagnan chided. He reached out and picked up the broken crucifix he'd yet to take off. "Don't disrespect God's decision to save your sorry hide."

Aramis huffed out a laugh, which felt like a full on punch to his chest. Finally giving in to a grimace of pain, he nodded breathlessly and allowed d'Artagnan to lead him into the house.

The interior had been just as ransacked as the rest of the compound, and Aramis felt a pang of anger and grief for the violation and loss so many of them had endured. The bedrooms weren't in great shape, but the mattresses had not, in fact, been ripped to shreds. D'Artagnan eased Aramis down onto the bed and stood back as though doubting he'd actually consent to rest.

Aramis shifted backward and then lay down. He didn't think he would sleep. But he lay there in the broken remains of his friends' home as they continued to toil outside with the wounded, and he began to count with thanks each and every blessing they'd come out of this with.

.o.0.o.

It took a few days for the devastation to settle, for the wounded to be retrieved from the streets and tended to, for the dead to be cleared. Those dragons that weren't too badly injured had to come in with ropes and hoist the dragon carcasses out. All the dragon remains were burned with incendie, but the ones that belonged to the garrison received a funeral pyre in honor of their sacrifice.

Treville had stood in the face of those scorching flames and watched one of his oldest friends reduced to ash. Kilgar had given his life for the Musketeers. For Treville.

It was a terrible weight of grief to bear, but Treville couldn't give himself time to mourn. There was still too much to do. One of which, as trivial as it sometimes seemed on the surface, was ceremony.

Many areas of the city had been damaged, but this morning the King and Queen stood in the main square of the first leveled section to be cleared, facing their people. Louis stood with his dragon behind him. And looked far more regal and commanding than Treville had ever seen him. It was both a moment of pride and grief for what had brought it about.

"Citizens of Paris," Louis began, his voice ringing out over the square. "Today we stand on the stones of victory. But they were hard won. With lives and blood. I shall never forget the sacrifices my people made in helping me retake my throne. Without you, what is a king but a man with a fancy chair and a crown of paste?" He paused to glance at Anne. "We have suffered and fought together. And together we will rebuild."

The people cheered and applauded. Even the musketeers, usually so professional to stand on ceremony, clapped along. Treville raised his hands and joined in.

Louis and Anne turned and started to make their way back to the palace.

"Captain Treville," the King called.

Treville moved closer to walk beside them. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"France is in need of a First Minister." Louis stopped and turned to face him. "I would like it to be you."

Treville's jaw slackened in shock. "Your Majesty…" he floundered. "I am a soldier, not a politician."

"You are a man of character and loyalty," Anne put in. "Your King is asking you to serve."

Treville could still barely form a response. First Minister? He glanced back at his men, his musketeers. Could he leave them?

But then he remembered his soldiering partner was now gone. And his men…they had proven themselves quite capable in his absence. No, as much as it pained him, he knew there was no going back to the life he had before.

He turned back to the King, who was starting to look nervous at Treville's continued silence. "It would be my great honor, Your Majesty."

Louis let out a relieved smile. "Excellent."

Anne smiled at him as well.

Treville didn't know what he was getting himself into, but he hoped he was up for it.

.o.0.o.

The Musketeers all gathered in the ruins of the garrison. Most of the damage had been stripped away, leaving bare struts and leveled dirt ready for new construction to begin.

And speaking of new beginnings, d'Artagnan could barely hold still as he stood out in front of the others, Ayelet at his shoulder. Treville came up to him, holding a small pin in his palm.

"This is my last act as Captain," he said. "And I can't think of a better one to go out on. D'Artagnan, I hereby promote you to the rank of dragon rider." He reached out and pinned the small silver silhouette of a dragon to d'Artagnan's coat.

D'Artagnan couldn't keep from beaming. At long last, he had everything he ever wanted. He was a Musketeer, a dragon rider, and married to the most wonderful woman in the world. He glanced over at Constance standing with Jean and the others, all of them applauding his promotion.

Ayelet snaked her head around to sniff at the pin, then made a gurgling sound as though to ask where her special pin was.

D'Artagnan laughed and patted her neck. "Don't you worry, girl, I'll make sure your saddle has a giant fleur-de-lis on the sides."

She smacked her jaw as though mollified.

The other musketeers began to move forward and clap him on the back. He smiled and nodded in return. His brothers came last, clasping his forearm and pulling him into hugs. Even Athos finally held an arm out to embrace him. D'Artagnan finished with wrapping an arm around Constance.

"You know what this means," Porthos said to Rhaego. He cocked his head at Ayelet. "She's gonna be ridin' wit' us from now on."

The indignant noise out of the russet dragon's throat made them all laugh.

"Someone has to, now that Athos is captain," Aramis said, clapping their new leader on the shoulder.

Athos shook his head as though regretting his own promotion. "Come on, let's get back to work."

"Aye, Cap'in," Porthos said cheekily.

They all grinned, even as they set off to do just that.

After all, a musketeer's work was never done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the conclusion to season 2! Thanks so much to everyone who's come on this journey with me. It's been a blast. And I have news: there will be a season 3 and I have five episodes all lined up and ready to go! So this AU is far from over. XD
> 
> NEXT TIME
> 
> The Comte de Rochefort returns from Spain with a mission for the Musketeers to stop a traitor from defecting to Madrid. But can he be trusted?


End file.
